


As They Expected

by Throwaway96



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Akechi Goro Redemption, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Gore, Cameos/References from all Persona games, F/F, F/M, Female Persona 5 Protagonist, Human!Morgana, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Sex, Intrigue, M/M, Multi, Murder, NOT Teacher-Student Relationship, Not Beta Read, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, Persona 4 References, Persona 5 Protagonist is from Inaba, Persona 5: The Royal Spoilers, Texting, Time Travel, Trans Female Character, Trans Male Character, weird tag but it needed to be included
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:34:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 18
Words: 68,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26636674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Throwaway96/pseuds/Throwaway96
Summary: Akira paused when she took him in: it had been years and years since Shido's ship, but the boy in front of her was decidedly Akechi Goro. Strange though, the way he was dressed down, clearly off-kilter, along with the seemingly pained look he was giving her.OrThe Phantom Thieves find themselves waking years in the past, on the date when Joker arrived in Tokyo. Now if only they could figure out why each of them seemed to remember a different past from each other.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren (one-sided), Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira (one-sided), Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist (One-Sided), Amamiya Ren/Kawakami Sadayo, Kawakami Sadayo/Kurusu Akira, Kawakami Sadayo/Persona 5 Protagonist, Suzui Shiho/Takamaki Ann
Comments: 81
Kudos: 131





	1. Prologue: Starting Positions

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all, been shuffling this idea around for a while now and am happy to share it with everyone. I'll be putting content warnings for each chapter in the end notes, so if you need to view them you can find them there--let me know if you'd rather they be located in the opening notes.

Akira was expecting to wake to silence, lying in bed next to her wife, feeling the weight of thirty-seven years of life on her bones. They had gone to bed after getting into a fight, deciding to postpone it until they had rested and weren't exhausted and angry. That was one thing she'd always loved about them, how they were willing to hear things out and make things work. Akira had been looking forward to speaking to her wife, to taking her daughter to school, to getting her life back on track after it had seemed to slide away these past few months. She had gone to sleep hopeful for their future.

Instead, she woke up to the noise of a train, and her eyes snapped open to see the city outside the window. She turned to look about, trying to determine what was happening, when she noticed her hands lacked the nicks they'd picked up over the years. Her hair was shorter, tickling the back of her neck as opposed to falling to her shoulders. Shaking fingers reached up and found glasses on her face--glasses she hadn't worn for years and years. She had to take several tries to figure out the password to her phone, but eventually she managed to get to the home screen, and found the date staring back at her: April 9th, 2016. The date she had first moved to Tokyo and began her stint as a Phantom Thief, twenty-one years in the past.

Her younger self's phone background was from some show she'd liked when she was younger. Her own was from her daughter's fifth birthday, when they'd taken her to an aquarium--the girl staring up at an otter who reciprocated the eye contact. 

Akira looked at the meaningless image in her hand. It took everything she had to keep from openly sobbing.

***

Akechi Goro was expecting to wake up to warmth--as more often than not he woke to the feeling of his boyfriend's arm around his chest and ticklish breath on his shoulder. On a weekend, they would normally lounge for as long as they could indulge themselves. The simple pleasures of a now simple life.

Today, though, as he first began to grasp consciousness, Goro noted the lack of warmth next to him, holding him close. He rose groggily, murmuring "'Kira?" as he tried to blink away the residual sleep. It was then, as his hands slipped seeking purchase on the sheets, that he realized he was not in his bedroom.

At least, not a bedroom that had been his at any point in the last decade. The bare walls and spartan furnishings belonged to an apartment he'd spent the most impactful year of his life in. _But why,_ he wondered as he looked about. _Why would I dream of this place?_

A scant bit of searching determined what he'd initially, albeit hesitantly, figured: today was the day Akira would first arrive in Tokyo. Puzzlingly, the schedule he'd put together on his phone seemed lighter than it was the first time--after a moment, he realized that it lacked his cryptic reminders regarding the timetables of shutdowns. Additionally, it would seem that he was not in a dream--his dreams were never this concrete, never remained cognizant for this long before.

More and more curious, but he wouldn't find anything by standing still. Without further ado, Goro threw on the quickest ensemble he could scavenge and stepped outdoors, with a mind to go to a particular coffee shop.

***

Isshiki Futaba had been spending the weekend at her half-brother's place, so the sensation of waking in a foreign place didn't seem odd to her. The moment awareness fully reached her; however, was a different story. She let out a yelp as she gazed about a room filled with rubbish and old food containers, blinds shut tight. Fighting down the urge to bolt out of the disgusting room, she pinched herself briefly to confirm she wasn't dreaming. Sadly, the pinch test seemed to suggest she had somehow been spirited into a miniature landfill.

 _Maybe I've been Freaky Friday'd?_ That theory seemed to get squashed when she found a computer monitor and used it as a mirror. The face looking back at her was her own, albeit younger, the hair longer, the body lacking the muscle tone she'd worked to achieve. _Alternate universe then?_ she wondered. _One where I decided to be a solely Int build, apparently. How upsetting._

Faced with the prospect of suddenly being forced into the younger body of an alternate dimension version of herself, Futaba decided to do the only thing that made sense: reconnaissance. A quick stroll down the hall quickly identified the place she was in as uncle Sojiro's house. Judging by the stickers that had been placed on the door to her room, it seemed she had been living there a while, though the same couldn't be said for her brother.

That still left the question of _why_ she was living with her honorary uncle, when in her own timeline she and her brother had lived with mom until they were done with uni. Pulling out her phone, Futaba typed in her mother's name with weak fingers. 

She cried out when she saw the results.

***

Niijima Makoto had not expected to wake up. When the group had learned Amamiya Ren had struck some sort of deal with Akechi to go after Shido themselves, she figured they'd sic the politician's forces on the remaining Thieves to get some breathing room. At one point she had thought Ren better than such things, but after watching him stand over Ryuji's lifeless body, she realized that maybe she'd thought too highly of their leader, to think he'd have basic moral integrity.

The Thieves had gone to ground, living their days in the safe spaces to Mementos to keep from being noticed, but even then it seemed like only a matter of time. Makoto had come to expect that each day would be their last.

Still, she hadn't expected to wake up some months earlier, all her memories intact. She took a handful of shuddering breaths before getting to work. If things were going to play out properly this time, Ren could not be allowed to be a factor.

***

Haru had expected to have a board meeting in the afternoon. Instead, the fifty year old awoke to find herself back in high school, without any of the authority she had spent decades building up. 

She woke up in a world where her father was alive.

In her own world, she'd had decades to come to terms with his death and process her own emotions. His death left an undeniable mark on her, but any grief associated with his passing had been analyzed and stowed away in its proper place. At times, it made her feel guilty for how easily she had moved on, that there were days when she never gave him more than a moment's thought. Thankfully though, it also meant that when she first saw him that morning, sitting at the counter and reading while he ate a bagel, she was able to quash down the emotion that threatened to overcome her, able to keep from rushing over and hugging him. Then he glanced over her way, and she couldn't help the nostalgia bubbling over in her.

Then he made a comment about Sugimaru, and that warmth froze over inside her soul. She'd forgotten from the years about her old fiancé, about the deals her father had wrought for personal benefit. Now what she had to school herself of was not happiness but a sickness that gripped her. She gave a non-committal reply to whatever he said--in truth she was running on auto-pilot--and retreated to her room as soon as.possible. She grabbed her phone as quickly as possible, searching for the Meta-Nav. As expected, it was absent, waiting until she was able to get into the Metaverse by other methods. 

That would be alright. They had burned the system down once before. They could do it again. _Would_ do it again.

***

For the briefest of moments when she awoke, she was Kasumi, only for that illusion to fall apart and for Sumire to claw her way back to consciousness with a gasp. Memories of the next year and ones beyond filled her mind, visions of other worlds and monsters, of standing with nine others above the world and slaying a god of steel and thought. Of how the ten of them received that god's power and used it to guard the Metaverse from future threats. Of their alliance with other groups who had gone through similar trials. The memories ended on a battlefield, fighting some elder god side by side with the first detective prince, blood soaking through Sumire's coat.

But now she was back, for better or for worse. She spent the day huddling under the blankets, trying to determine what to do.

***

The first thing Ryuji noticed when he woke was pain in his leg, a dull ache that seemed to come from a long-held injury. Puzzled, he rose, rubbing at the spot with slow movements. Most likely it was sore, but it had been over a week since he'd had his last major run: a marathon, and those didn't take much of anything out of him.

His confusion only mounted when he opened his eyes and found himself back in his childhood bedroom. A pair of Shujin uniform pants were draped over the nearby chair, but he had been out of high school for a long time, and he wasn't prone to dreaming about high school. Sure it had been a fun time, but other than track practice and meeting new friends, there wasn't anything else that seemed notable. And yet, here he was.

_What the fuck?_

***

Ann had gone to bed on April 8th, 2016, and woke up in the same place she expected, in the same form as expected, on April 9th, 2016. She woke up briefly, yawned, and decided to get some more sleep before greeting the day.

***

Yusuke woke with a cry, pain searing through his lung from where it had been punctured. Images of violence flashed through his eyes, of the Thieves' desperate attempt to steal Shido's heart, of Ryuji and Shiho both falling to one of the golden pyramid's attacks. His own death, or what he figured must have been his death, came not longer after.

He rolled out of bed, his breath ragged as he gripped his knees. The sights and sounds of Madarame's atelier, of his old prison, greeted him. _Am I finding myself in purgatory? In hell?_ As he wondered and gripped his head, the sound of his phone's alarm cut through his thoughts. With automatic motions, he turned it off, only to stop as he saw the date.

This didn't seem to be hell. Rather, it seemed to be something so much stranger.


	2. The Faces We Once Knew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akira meets an old foe, Goro is surprised to make a new friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See the end of the notes for content warnings

"Hold the door please!" The voice cut through the mental fog that had pervaded Akira's head, and she glanced up to see a brunette in a dark hoodie rushing towards the subway train. On instinct, she stuck a foot out and triggered the door's sensors, giving the person enough time to scrape into the car. The doors shut behind them, and with a lurch the line to Yongen-Jaya began to move.

"Thank you," the other person began. "I apologise for the inconvenience, I've had a bit of a flustering day."

"It's no issue," she said in reply and turned to look at the newcomer. Akira paused when she took him in: it had been years and years since Shido's ship, but the boy in front of her was decidedly Akechi Goro. Strange though, the way he was dressed down, clearly off-kilter, along with the seemingly pained look he was giving her. "Is everything alright?"

"Y-yes," the so-called-detective replied, running a hand through his hair. Against herself, Akira blinked. The entire situation was so bizarre, seeing Akechi willingly go without any sort of mask. "You just look very much like someone I know."

"Ah, gotcha. Afraid I can't say the same." She lied.

Akechi nodded, and though he tried to hide it, a look of sadness broke through, his face dropping as though that of a broken man.

_So he might also know something, I suppose? Maybe even have come back as well. Doesn't change the fact that he's a murderer, that he tried to kill you. He might try it again._

She was startled out of her thoughts when she realized Akechi was starting to speak again. "Either way, the name's Akechi Goro." He held out a hand, which she took and shook, unsure of what else to do. 

"Kurusu Akira," she said, before turning her focus to intently studying the door in front of her. This was not how she planned, nor had hoped, today would go, even after she'd found herself flung back in time. Ideally, she'd hoped to meet Sojiro, clean up the attic, and then to take a long nap for the energy she would need on Sunday. Maybe, if she felt strong enough, she would come out to Sojiro. She hadn't had the chance to in her future. It was one of her greatest regrets.

But instead, she was standing directly right of an assassin who had tried to murder her, who she last saw dying in his father's subconscious, and who was alternating between looking at his phone in frustration and glancing at her--trying and failing to be discrete.

_Strange._

Either way, it wasn't Akira's place to comment. Right now she needed to get to Leblanc and reorient herself. She'd be safe from unexpected factors there--Goro had never gone to Leblanc this early last time around _(And he won't this time either,_ she forced herself to think.), and Futaba would still be a shut-in. As awful as it might be to ignore someone she considered a sister, right now she needed the peace and quiet to figure out what was happening--as well as let out all the emotions she was currently keeping trapped in her belly, desiring to break free. Tonight, when Sojiro went home, she could cry and curse to her heart's content. For now, she just had to avoid any unnecessary conversations.

Unfortunately, the boy next to her was not on the same page. 

"You new to Tokyo?" There was an expectation that rung in the question, and she decided to humor it, at least to not make a scene.

"Mhm. 'M from Inaba originally."

"I see." There was almost the edge of a frown on his face, but she didn't pay it any mind. Question answered, she returned her focus forward while he fiddled with something in his pocket. Eventually, a flicker of white passed the edge of her vision, and she looked over just in time to see him slip something into his mouth. Sadly, he noticed the glance before she could look away. "Want a Mentos?" he asked, holding up the foil tube for her.

"No thank you." _What the fuck?_

"Fair enough."

_Why is he acting like this--it's so strange? I guess Akechi was always on guard whenever acting around me, considering how he was planning on killing me and everything, so maybe he'd act differently around someone he expects to never run into again--especially if they don't know about the whole Detective Prince thing, but still. Why couldn't you hold off on throwing me a curveball two hours into my time back here?_

"Might I ask how are you finding the city so far?" Akechi continued _,_ while Akira's mind was rushing through a repeated prayer of _Please shut up, please shut up, please shut up._ "Seeing so many people, so many hearts come together like this, it can be a wondrous thing to see."

"I guess." _Only one more stop before mine, thank god._

"Oh, am I bothering you? I apologise, I'm somewhat out of sorts today."

_Please shut up, please shut up._

"It's alright," she lied. "We all have days like that." She was very much having that sort of day right now. Might well become the sort of year, that sort of life. God, now she wanted to cry again. She reigned her thoughts, her emotions back in. Akira couldn't cry, not in front of him. Especially not _him_. 

"I suppose we all do," Akechi said, voice lingering even in the crowded space of the train. 

Finally, though, the PA announced their arrival at Yongen-Jaya, and Akira felt like she could breathe again. _No longer being in a tin can with a serial killer, who knew how anxiety-inducing that could be. Wait, speaking of that . . ._

Akira wished she had come up with this idea more than three seconds in advance, but she had plenty of experience improvising for the purposes of subterfuge, not only during her time as Joker but also her life beyond. No matter. As people began to filter out of the car, Akira slowed for a second, while also hooking one foot in front of the other. Just in time before someone behind her pushed past, and sent her falling to the ground. 

At least, she would have, had Akechi not caught her and steadied her. Thankfully, despite the oddness of how he was acting, the need to keep up a mask in polite company forced him to do so. Had they been alone, she imagined he would have just let her drop. She couldn't truly blame him for that, as she would have done the same.

"Whoa, okay, here we go," he grunted as they took a few steps together, her hands grabbing him on the shoulder and waist for support. It took a moment to right themselves fully, during which time her hands had done a little dance and were now clasped behind her back. Akechi stepped back, hair askew, and dragged a hand through it like a rake. "You doing alright, sir? Nothing hurt?"

She shook her head, grimacing instinctively at the address. Of course going back in time would mean returning to a time when she wasn't out to those she knew, but out of everything that was going on, that had seemed like small potatoes. Hearing a reminder of that now; though, it hurt more than she expected.

"I'll be fine, don't worry about me," she said, maintaining a neutral facade as Akechi glanced at her before, perhaps realizing that the time for polite conversation seeming normal had passed, decided to leave, moving up the station's stairs with more urgency than she'd expected.

Either way, it served her well. She glanced down to the phone in her hands, the one she'd stolen from Akechi's pocket as they'd collided. If her memory was correct, tomorrow he would use it to enter the Metaverse and cause a major accident, injuring dozens upon dozens of people and paving the way for Shido's ascension in the process.

Akira was under no illusion that she could stop every single one of his crimes from now until when she could take down Shido. Nor did she imagine she could bring the phone to Futaba and pull out all of the assassin's secrets: Futaba was still a shut-in who had no reason to help Akira. 

But at least she could stop just one incident, and so as the train pulled out and the station began to clear of people, she tossed the phone down onto the tracks, to be swept away or destroyed. Only then did she leave the platform.

Distracted as she was by the phone, she never thought to notice that he had also gotten off the stop at Yongen-Jaya, only a block or two from Leblanc.

***

Akira didn't recognise him. That alone was not entirely surprising, but it stung nonetheless, deep in the core of his being. On the way to the train--more accurately on the way to Leblanc--he'd been hoping for, daydreaming of, a world in which his boyfriend remembered. A world in which they could join forces right away, to spare each other from the hurts the year would grant them, and to take down Shido together the first time, as they were meant to. For Goro to stand with them, on the same side of the shutter door.

But when they met and all he could see in his boyfriend's eyes was the confusion and repulsion of having to speak with a stranger they didn't care for . . . that look had carved the daydream from Goro's heart and tossed it to the ground.

2016's Goro would never have cried about something like this, probably thinking that it was a good thing that distractions were pushed aside so he could focus on Shido, on what mattered.

As for him though . . . 2026's Goro, the Goro who had become a social care worker to help those like himself, who could look back at the Detective Prince and see a sad abused boy who refused to let down his walls, who could only see the world in anger and hate, for that had been all he had been shown . . . that Goro just wanted to find someplace quiet to grieve for what he had lost.

Instead, he kept trudging on. Going to Leblanc no longer seemed like an option--he didn't think he could bring himself to face Akira again--but going home and stewing in negativity seemed like a poor substitute. He'd had years of negative stewing in his past, and they hadn't exactly turned out for the best.

He could still join the Thieves at some point. Sure, he wouldn't necessarily have the same relationship with them as he'd had before, but that relationship had been built firstly upon lies and loathing. To, from the start, serve as comrades, would be a much better time. 

Beyond that, it would appear that he was much further from Shido than he'd remembered. The lack of requests on his phone told him that much. A good thing, considering the issues he'd found that morning with the Metaverse. While it seemed he was still considered to be the 'Second Detective Prince', as the media would have it be known, it appeared that he'd reached such heights through legitimate means.

Thank God for small favours.

That still left the matter of actually finding a method of joining the Thieves, but he could determine that at a later—

"And fuck off!" The exclamation pulled Goro sharply from his thoughts, as his attention returned to the back-alley streets of Yongen-Jaya he'd been wandering about in. Across the street, a tiny girl with orange hair was tossing garbage bags her own size into the waste bin in front of an older house. It was odd, she almost looked like . . . _Wait, that is Sakura Futaba. What the hell?_

Wasn't she supposed to be a withdrawn wastrel at this point?

_A wastrel due to your own actions! No, that thought doesn't help anybody. Focus on helping now, not punishing for before._

He crossed the gap as she began lifting another bag, grunting from the effort. Her back was to him, so as he walked he began to speak, trying to be loud enough to not be missed yet quiet enough to not be startling. "Excuse me, would you like a hand with that?" Even after all these years, the urge to speak in the false voice he'd used before was near overwhelming, but he resisted it. Instead, he used the one which he'd developed in recent years, still polite, but calmer, less chipper. Meant to put those troubled at ease, not to please his betters. It helped that the voice was more genuine.

As he expected, she didn't appear to recognise his voice, waving him off without looking back. "I'm fine. Just needed to do some cleaning and I'm a bit out of breath. You know you kinda sound like—" she paused as she turned around and caught sight of him, eyes wide underneath her glasses. She pulled in a shaky breath, taking a moment to compose herself. Despite himself, Goro couldn't help but feel nervousness seep into his bones. "D-do I know you?" she asked, voice hesitant. With wavering footfalls she took a step closer, and Goro stepped back. "You look a lot like someone I know."

 _Maybe this was a bad idea,_ he thought. _Go and talk to the girl whose mother you killed, great idea, Goro._

Still, he had come too far to back away now. And he needed someone on his side, even if it was the girl he couldn't look at without feeling torn apart by guilt.

"I wouldn't be surprised to learn we know each other. You, you look like someone I know too."

"Goro, you remember?" she asked, voice quiet, and equal measures of relief and dread filled him. She was far from the ideal among the Thieves to be working with--even discounting what he had done to her mother, she'd always been a bit too out there, a bit too energetic for him to feel comfortable around her. 

_Though I suppose beggars can't be choosers._ He forced himself to nod.

Of all the potential responses he could have received, being the target of a bear hug from the hacker was probably the one which he had expected the least. Her arms gripped him tightly, trying--but failing--to lift him up, and he could feel tears begin to dampen his hoodie. 

"Thank God," he heard her say. "I don't think I could deal with all this by myself--I was in a different place than I'd expected, you were gone, I look completely different, and mom--oh god, Goro, mom is dead."

He froze at the words, shuddering under the near painful grip as confusion rocked him. "Umm, Sakura-chan . . ." He didn't get any response from her other than a confused whimper. "Futaba, I don't understand."

She pulled back, tilting her head to one side. "Don't understand what?" He stepped back, unsure of where to begin--everything seemed to be confusing at the moment. "Goro, you're scaring me."

"That, for one," he said. His mind flailed, grasping for any sense of certainty the day had denied. "I don't remember you ever calling me by my first name."

"But, why wouldn't I . . ." She frowned at his words, only for a look of realisation seemed to dawn upon her. "Oh, of course. Yeah, that would check out. Though it does make things more annoying."

"What makes sense? Because so far, very _very_ little is making sense."

"Well, in my memories, things are very different from how they are now. Mom is alive, for one, but also a number of other things. For one, she adopted you when I was ten. She, uh, she found out that I had a half-sibling in the system and gave you a home." Goro stared at her in stunned silence. "I've known you for almost twenty years now, as my brother."

"Y-you're my half sibling?" he wondered aloud. Even in his own universe, after years of knowing each other, they'd never learned about that fact, unless it was something unique to her own. After all, it was far from the only major change between his memory and hers.

 _Wakaba._ Even had it not been the case in his own life, of course he had ruined the lives of the closest people he could call his blood family.

Discounting Shido, of course. That bastard never counted.

"Yeah, we share a sperm donor," Futaba said. "At least, that's what we refer to him as in my universe. I don't suppose by some miracle he happens to be a saint in your universe."

Goro snorted. "Far from it. I can't think of anyone I hate more than him."

"Well, good thing we stole his heart then. Umm, I mean—" 

He waved her off. "I know about it. The Metaverse, Phantom Thieves, stealing off hearts, all of it. Though I was never a member of the Thieves until the very end." _Did joining them to deal with Maruki even count? Eh, semantics, I suppose._ "Was it different in your world?"

"You joined a few months in. I was a founding member. By chance, do you know if the Metaverse still exists? I don't have the nav on my phone."

"It does," Goro said. "I had it on my phone by this point in my timeline, and it appears to be the same way in this one. However, I tried entering Mementos. It worked fine, but when I did so, I couldn't access a persona . . . and my rebel form never took place. It appears that our awakenings have been reverted, unfortunately. Which isn't the only setback."

"Oh?"

"Akira doesn't recognise us, or at least, he doesn't recognise me."

Futaba sighed. "That would increase the difficulty to Merciless all right. You entirely sure he didn't recognise you?"

"Pretty sure. I offered him one of these," he said, pulling out the stick of mints he'd impulse purchased at the station in Shibuya.

"Mentos?" Futaba asked, confusion evident in her voice. "Why would Mentos be, oh, Mementos."

"Quite," Goro said, stuffing the stick back into his pocket, ignoring the heat that was entering Goro's cheeks. "Maybe he just didn't get the reference though. God, I hope that he just didn't get the reference."

"With Akira's thick skull, you know that has to be it. That managed to earn a chuckle from him, despite it all. "Now come on, pop open the Nav. I wanna go ahead and get a copy on my phone."

"Sure thing," he said, happy to avoid having to discuss any more about his own past than he needed to. Eventually--no, soon--he would need to tell her about his past. About what he did to Wakaba. She was owed that honesty. For now, though, he didn't dare risk the one ally, the one friend, he had managed to find in the center of the confusion. He was all too willing to stay in the eye of the storm, at least for a little while longer. And so he went to pull his phone out, feeling more relaxed than he had only a few minutes before. It wasn't in the first pocket he reached for, which wasn't a surprise, as he rarely wore this sort of outfit. When he still couldn't find it a few seconds longer, he began to panic. He _had_ had it, after all, he'd gone into the Metaverse using it. So where was it?

"What is it?"

He scowled. _I dropped a damn time bomb somewhere around here, where any idiot might be able to get into the Metaverse. Or worse, find a text from Shido. Not that I can tell her that now._

"I lost my phone somewhere," he forced himself to answer, words whistling between clenched teeth. "And I don't know if getting a new one would transfer the Meta-Nav."

"Oh shit," Futaba said.

"Exactly."

***

In the dark, cold depths of Mementos, a figure stood on the edge of a platform, holding a battered smartphone in their hand, a single text holding their attention. It had come in from a politician, providing a name and a time. It was on short notice, but such was generally the rule with the mandated hits this politician sent to his son.

The figure let out a light laugh as they stretched and leapt down to the tracks. It was time to hunt down a Shadow.

"Oh Crow," the figure said as they took one last look at the phone before pocketing it. "This will be so much fun."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: a trans woman is misgendered in dialogue and narration by people who believe her to be a cis man, mentions of death
> 
> One thing I've been thinking about is how to handle other characters dealing with Akira's gender--none of the Phantoms are going to be transphobic or anything like that, but with the differing timelines with people having different genders in various instances of them, I'm trying to avoid making audiences uncomfortable due to early references to Akira with varying pronouns. I'm bringing my own experiences as a trans person to writing this, but if this format is making anyone pause, let me know--I'm still figuring out how to make this fic work and any feedback is appreciated (also just feedback in general is always appreciated TBH)


	3. All that is now and all that is gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yusuke gets stuck in his own head; Akira settles into her new home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warnings can be found in the end notes.

Yusuke walked the back streets of Shibuya until his feet bled. The path he took was circuitous and meaningless, simply designed to take him as far away from Madarame as he could be taken, and for as long as possible. At some point, he supposed, the source of his misery had transformed from the atelier itself to Shibuya in general, for not long ago he found himself strolling the greenery on the banks of the Tama River. He'd left that morning before the sun rose, needing to escape the ghosts of his home. They followed, and it took until noon, sitting by the water, for them to finally give up their chase. Now he was alone only with the ghosts of his future.

One of the older students at the atelier had owned a cassette player that they'd left when they bolted. Yusuke had kept it in his room, more for the strange craving of ownership of the space around himself, than for actually listening to music. Generally, he preferred not to have his hearing focused on something else, to better focus his sight for painting.

Painting didn't matter now, though, and the sounds of others reminded him of the crowded few days before the election. So when he left that morning he'd grabbed the cassette player and a dozen spare batteries, and listened as he walked. The music was of a sort Yusuke had rarely listened to, harsh noises and raised voices. It shocked him how honest he found it, in it's raw emotion. It was far from beauty, but really, if this music was beautiful, it would have lost a part of itself.

When he had first awoken to Goemon, inside the gilded cathedral of vanity, Yusuke had proclaimed himself the arbiter of beauty. It had felt so right at the time, to take upon his shoulders that responsibility. Perhaps that had been the hallmark of his own vanity--with the benefit of hindsight, that seemed to be the case. 

Above all else, following self-reflection, Yusuke found his greatest weakness as an artist to be his obsession with beauty. It served to limit his expression to juvenile levels. It had also blinded him to the weakness which had presented themselves in the Phantom Thieves.

That thought brought Yusuke back around to the topic he had been walking to avoid. With a sigh, he slowed himself and glanced around. His walk had taken him out to a long row of baseball fields that sat on the water's edge, and he took a seat on a nearby bench. Just getting off his feet was a great relief, as was resting his back on the bench. He devoted a moment to checking his feet, and confirmed that at some point a blister he had not remembered possessing had burst, and one sock was stained with blood. Only then, diversions lain aside, did he turn his thoughts to his compatriots.

The cassette track flipped over, and the final song began to play, for what must have been the fourth or fifth time.

Yusuke had first met the Phantom Thieves in June, when they were investigating a lead from one of Madarame's old victims. He had met them on the tail end of one of the man's gallery exhibitions, three students clearly out of their depth, and at first he had only spoken to them to try and teach them about the artistry of the pieces--especially the artistry of those pieces which he had himself painted. Sakamoto Ryuji's loud, assured air with which he carried himself was complemented by the quieter, composed pillars of Amamiya Ren and Suzui Shiho, the two keeping someone behind the brash boy. Even still, there was something magnetic about the three, something which had led him to join them, unknowingly at first, in their investigation of his master. 

And then they were joined by Niijima Makoto, Sakura Futaba, Iwai Kaoru, and Okumura Haru as their investigations became more and more grand, a conspiracy whose furthest root was discovered with his sensei coming full into view.

"And all that you slight,"  the singers chorused. " And everyone you fight."

Going against Madarame had been one of the most difficult things Yusuke had ever done, but then he was Fox, a judge of beauty and morality, riding with others alike, condemning others to conviction and absolution in equal measure. Criminals, delinquents, misanthropes, or troubled children, none were safe from their judgment and unyielding correction, binding the soul to the route they deemed intended. Morgana had said that the desires, the emotions, the mindsets and thoughts, they were stripping from others, were distorted, unnatural.

Yusuke suppressed the urge to scoff. Unhealthy? Certainly. Unnatural? He'd had more than enough experience with coming to conclusions he'd later regretted to recognise that one's distorted views could be fully natural. 

He looked out onto the river. The cloudy, cool sky was reflected in the water, and Yusuke watched as the wind pushed and pulled at the surface, colour and texture morphing through ripples. From one of the nearby diamonds, a cry came out as a child struck a pitch. The sight, if clustered families and activities on the riverbank, called to mind  _ The Red Vineyard. _

He wondered, if Van Gogh were to be alive today, would the Thieves have decided to steal his desires. True, the debilitations which had plagued the man were debilitating--certainly no one deserves to be in a situation where they felt suicide was their only escape. But to remove the choice from someone, to remove their ability to feel certain emotions and desires, the changes went far. And would that be what the artist would have wanted?

When Yusuke was younger, the atelier's neighbor had been a woman who had come to Japan from Ghana back in the 1980s, choosing to stake her claim in the burgeoning IT economy for the sake of her family back home. Occasionally, if no one else was available, she would watch the children at the atelier for Madarame, particularly when they were younger. Yusuke could remember her putting a record on for them while she would work on some code, speaking to him in a cool and comforting voice. Sometimes, when he was older, he would spend part of the day with her, speaking about her family or making benachin or banku. As the years passed, those visits grew further and further about, and when he did visit, she would seem distant. It wouldn't be until later that he learned that she had been diagnosed with Alzheimer's, that each day was more and more difficult for her, and that she hadn't wished for him to see her like that. Hadn't wanted to scare the boy that came over, even after she couldn't remember his name. 

After living with the disease for four years, after treatments had been ineffective (as they so often were, he later learned), she had taken her own life. At the time, he was sorrowed, but a part of him thought her a coward, had hated her for leaving him alone with someone who he was still aware on some level was abusing him. 

Now, though, he could understand it perfectly well. To be in pain, to have one's life ruined, and to know it would only get worse? In Yusuke's mind, her actions were perfectly justified. 

He imagined that the other Thieves would have disagreed. They had, after all, with Futaba, a fair case, as the circumstances were highly different. But at what point did the shift occur, at what point did morality become blurred.

At what point did people's willingness to self-destruct become rational, become undistorted? And did the Thieves know the difference?

Ren certainly hadn't--or at least, had not understood when further action became meaninglessly self-destructive--he'd thrown himself across the divide in the boiler room when Akechi Goro seemed fated to die. Perhaps he had believed that the luck of the 'Wild Card' would have saved him.

It hadn't. All it did was damn the rest of them when they fought against Shido to steal his heart. In a way, Ren had damned them all to death.

Yusuke frowned. Certainly their leader had not meant to lead them to slaughter. But nonetheless, all of the Thieves had proven themselves to be flawed beings, incapable of seeing the full impact of their actions, of the morality at play. 

The Thieves, good guessers amongst the masses, had presented themselves as a beacon, as hope by which others could guide themselves, could push through hard times. But the Thieves, like all guessers, only knew the same width of wit as all others at most, sometimes less. Wit in direct opposition to glory and vanity. That much could be proven by their complete blundering as they smashed through Okumura's palace, drunk on the adulation of a guilt-proclaiming public.

So if Yusuke's vanity was the greatest of the Thieves, fueled by self-important arbitration, what did that speak of in regards to his wit?

Kurt Vonnegut had once said, "During the Vietnam War, every respectable artist in this country was against the war. It was like a laser beam. We were all aimed in the same direction. The power of this weapon turns out to be that of a custard pie dropped from a stepladder six feet high."

The Thieves, by contrast, had possessed not just the will to create art, but the power to forcibly change minds, to bend others into penitent submission, and their power had been similarly brief, and similarly impotent.

Yusuke sighed and leaned back. One of the children struck out, and as they turned, Yusuke was startled to see that the group appeared to be the same age as himself. He couldn't help but let out a weak, sickly smile at that, of course he thought of his peers now as children. 

His peers. If he had come back, they may have done so as well. And if they had, then as to those children lead by Stephen of Cloyes, they would march off to their crusade once again. Custard pies primed in their hands.

As for him . . . Yusuke looked down at his hands, at his shaking and twitching fingers. They needed to do something. As weak an artist as he was, that still stood as his calling. And, even should the other Thieves have also returned, that didn't change the fact that they had died.

_ A memorial, _ he decided.  _ I will craft for them a memorial. _

One last thing to do before he retired.

His body protested as he rose from the bench and began to walk back. As much as he loathed it, he couldn't just leave the atelier out of the blue. Maybe soon, but not yet. He felt lighter, walking away, the mantle of Thief no longer weighing upon his shoulders. He was, as of yet, unsure if he would miss it.

_ Ah well _ , he thought as the track ended. No matter how bleak the world might be, no matter how didactic the saviours might be, no matter how cowardly the veterans were, the music would still be wonderful.

***

If Akira had been exhausted when she had first woken up that morning, that was nothing compared to how she felt entering Leblanc. From meeting Akechi on the train to seeing Dr. Takemi walk past with an undercut, small changes kept cropping up on the edge of her vision. At first, she'd chalked them down to her own memory of events from over twenty years ago being faulty--surely she wouldn't remember being next to Akechi if she hadn't yet known who he was, especially if he was trying to act incognito. As the other changes began to pile up, though, it was harder and harder to accept them as merely the misgivings of a middle-aged woman. 

Needless to say, when she entered Leblanc--having beelined there to avoid the original hassle of getting lost in Yongen-Jaya's backstreets--and saw a customer there she hadn't remembered ever seeing before, it had taken a considerable amount of restraint to keep from immediately turning about and leaving. The older couple was there too, at least.

As though that would have worked. The moment the bell chimed, Sojiro had turned to look at her. "So," he said. "You're the kid? They did say that would be today."

She nodded, unsure of what else to say. She hadn't believed it was Sojiro at first, he looked so much younger than she'd remembered. Compared to Akechi, whose face had been frozen at eighteen, and Takemi, who had gradually faded from Akira's life before growing too much older, she had known and spent time around Sojiro her whole life from this moment onward. At most, a year passed between them seeing each other, and in the interim she'd watched him grow old and frail, helping manage Leblanc once he could no longer do so. 

The last time she'd seen him had been at his funeral, the guilt of never telling him her truth burning in her like a coal.

And here he was, with more colour in his cheeks than she'd ever seen before, only a handful of hairs greyed by the years. He was whole, in a way he hadn't been before.

And finally, a crack appeared in the dam she'd built up in her heart, and tears found themselves leaking from her eyes. "Y-yeah," she said, playing it off by rubbing at her eyelids.  _ Come on, you can hold on for a little longer. _

Vaguely, she heard the couple leave, moving out of their way without any thought. Only when Sojiro began speaking again did she return her attention to the world itself.

"Jeez, four hours for a cup of joe. At least you've got a bit more of an appetite, huh." It took Akira a moment to realise he was referring to the other customer, and spared a glance their way.

"What can I say, the curry's good," the customer, a raven-haired kid ( _ That kid is probably the same age as you, _ Akira reminded herself) in loose wine-stain drawstring pants and a charcoal sweater. A shabby overcoat was draped over the back of his booth, along with a scarf the colour of flax. His right hand, wearing a fingerless glove, flipped a spoon idly between his fingers, the same way Akira would flip her knives. Oddly, she noticed his left hand was bare. 

"Alright, alright," Sojiro cut through her musings. "I've gotta talk with this kid for a bit. Kurusu?" It took Akira another moment to realise he was addressing her, nodding after a few seconds. "Come upstairs with me." 

The attic of Leblanc was just as cluttered as she remembered, with the same milk crate bed she remembered from her own past. She shuddered as she saw the thing--it had inadvertently been the cause of many visits to the chiropractor in her future.

"This is your room," Sojiro said. "I'll at least give you sheets for your bed." He paused while Akira wondered how best to ensure her future health. "You look like you wanna say something."

She'd forgotten how confrontational he was at the start, the only warmth in his voice coming from the heat of anger and fear.  _ Not as though he didn't have his reasons, though. _

"I was just thinking," Akira started, taking a moment to fully line her words up. "It has promise."  _ Once I get enough money to buy a god damn bedframe, it will almost be perfect.  _ "Would it be okay with you if I bought some things for the room? I'd be sure to bring them in when there weren't any customers."

"With what money?" he asked, an eyebrow raised and hands crossed.

"If I got a part time job," she said.  _ Come on, you love that taking responsibility stuff. _

After a moment he shrugged. "Fine by me, I guess. Just be sure to not waste your money--you're only here for a year, remember. And remember to keep your head down, you hear? You step one foot out of line and your entire future is gone. Just get through this, and things will be better." With that, Sojiro seemed content to take his leave. Akira watched as he left, and let herself slump down onto the bed, a stringless marionette.

The future would be better. That much, Akira knew to be true. Phantom Thievery aside, so much more had happened in her twenties, so many good things. She had started doing work she was proud of, work that made a difference, she'd entered her first--and only, now that she thought about it--relationship, hell, she'd managed to get elected to the Diet in her twenties, nearly making history in the process. 

Though maybe she'd avoid politics this time around. Getting elected had been what damned her to staying in the closet to all but her closest friends. It had turned her into a coward, even if it was what enabled her to meet her wife again.

She frowned at the thought, glancing at her bare ring finger.  _ Should I even think of myself as a married woman anymore? If I'm the only one to have come back, then it would be exceedingly immoral to try and begin a relationship again, knowing all that I do.  _

_ I truly am alone then. _

It was that thought that broke the dam fully, and she let her head fall into her hands, letting out sobs as the tears streamed down her fingers and stained her arms, rivers crystallising upon her form. Pathetic whispered prayers came from her lips, begging to return home, to wake from this nightmare, to get to hold her daughter in her arms again. She wouldn't be selfish again, she wouldn't ask anything of the world, of anyone in it. She would do anything, just for the chance to go back to the place she belonged.

She wasn't sure how long she sat there, curled upon herself, lamenting in silence the loss of her world, deaf to anything beyond. Eventually, though, sensations filtered back into her brain: the rough texture of the mattress beneath her, the cold April air, and the sound of her phone buzzing. Shakily, she pulled the device out.

Alibaba: I've been informed that you're the new resident of Leblanc

Despite herself, Akira laughed. Maybe this was different, but hearing from the closest thing she had to a sister was a gift she wouldn't question.

Akira: That's me

Alibaba: I looked you up. the things I've heard you did, they actually happen

Akira: the assault, you mean?

Alibaba: yeah

Akira: they didn't, I just got between a monster and a victim. Turns out the monster was a politician

Alibaba: figured. I checked your other stuff. You seem like a good guy

Akira paused for a moment, before typing out a response. Futaba had been the first person she'd told in the old world, after all. 

Akira : girl, actually

Alibaba: oh?

Akira: yeah, I'm a trans woman

Alibaba: oh, neat

Alibaba: wait

Alibaba: neat was the wrong word. I just mean that I totally respect that and that I won't tell anyone if you don't want me too

Akira: …

Alibaba: …

Alibaba: I messed that up, didn't I?

Akira:  he-a-little-confused-but-he-got-the-spirit.png

Alibaba: you know what

Alibaba: that's fair

Akira clutched her phone to her chest and let out a tiny laugh. She still felt torn, between here and the world she left. The sorrow was still present, great and unyielding. But she could make it through. For everyone she had lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: mentions of suicide, death, and chronic illness with severely debilitating symptoms. Multiple characters have emotional breakdowns (one a subtle emotional breakdown, the other not so much) due to grief. Unintentional misgendering.
> 
> Hopefully I did Yusuke justice in this chapter--I find his headspace to be a very interesting one but a difficult one to write from, both in regards to his thought process and his speaking patterns. Eventually I settled on this introspective, pontificating, somewhat stream of consciousness writing style for him that amplifies my own rambling tendencies. I pictured him as being someone with a very eclectic knowledge base, but also one which he was always willing to draw upon, hence all the references he makes (for those interested, the main ones he makes are to essays written by Kurt Vonnegut and the Children's Crusade). For those curious, the album he was listening to was Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon, and the quoted track is their end of album song Eclipse, which is also where the chapter title comes from.


	4. Iscariot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Makoto regains an ally; Ann receives a call for help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings can be found in the end of chapter notes.

If there was one thing to be thankful for when it came to Sae's obsessive behavior before her change of heart, it's that Makoto had suffered little oversight from her sister. As such, slipping out for the day was a simple matter.

She had to blink as she stepped out into the streets of Tokyo—daylight had been an uncommon sight in the last days of Makoto's life, unless the Thieves had gone to hide in a palace which happened to feature it. Stepping onto the streets felt  _ wrong, _ felt like exposing her back to every knife in the city. But Ren had yet to turn on them, had yet to even meet the rest of the group. And though she was uncomfortable travelling outside the Metaverse, without the Navigator she didn't have much of a choice. Once she had the app, though, she imagined that most of her commutes would be spent riding Johanna through empty streets.

The city seemed quieter than Makoto remembered. She didn't know what to make of that.

Eventually, her wanderings took Makoto toward Shujin. She recognised the path long before the school came into sight, and the realisation filled her with disgust. Even now, the grooves by which the automata had moved on its track were well-worn, and the figurine followed the steps by which clockwork architecture had determined should be. Utterly dreadful, that her burning rebellion could be brought to smoulder so swiftly. She would need to spark that spirit soon. To humor herself, she imagined using Ren as kindling for the blaze.

Makoto slowed as she neared the school. Shujin was not a place which she associated with happy memories, but as the student council president her presence today, a few days before the start of the year, wouldn't be seen as tremendously odd. More importantly, she couldn't fully remember all of the other Thieves' phone numbers, and getting in touch with them by text seemed to be the most logical way to do so—at worst she could always claim a wrong number if they didn't remember anything. And right now, she needed to regroup them as swiftly as she could.

_ It's decided, then. _

Objective worn like armour, she resumed her pace towards Shujin. The school was as stark and clinical as she remembered, hunched in the bowels of the city like some sickly figure. She entered the maw without much ceremony, wishing to be in and out as quickly as possible. The entryway was nearly empty as she entered, though she could hear teachers speaking down one of the hallways. 

"I'm just saying, with how flaky she was last year, calling in sick two days before the start of the semester isn't a good look."

"I know what you mean," another voice spoke, and Makoto froze as she realised who it was. "People like her around, it doesn't matter what I contribute to the school."

"Well, I didn't mean it like that, Kamoshida-san . . ." the other teacher, who Makoto now recognised was Chouno-sensei trailed off. Makoto barely paid the words any attention, instead reigning in the urge to stalk down the hallway and murder the one she was talking to. _Of course that scumbag would be back,_ she thought. _At least this time we can stop him before he hurts anyone any further. And this time I get to be part of the team that goes after him._ _Now come on, get the info and get out of here._

Thankfully, she didn't run into anyone else as she moved up the stairwell, though after a moment she realised the one flaw in her plan--the records she was looking for were kept in the teacher's office due to the extra space. While she could theoretically go in and look through them, it would invite questions, questions she was unsure if it would be wise to weather. Stumped, she retreated back to the student council room to determine her next step. For a moment, she allowed herself to relax in the darkness of the room. It reminded her of the subways of Mementos.

Only a moment after she began to relax though, she heard what sounded like a footsteps from behind her. As another sounded, she relaxed into instinct. Another footsteps came closer, and then another. Then, as the person came close enough to touch, Makoto whipped about, reaching for their arm and twisting it back around, coming face to face with . . .

Haru, and the moment she saw the other girl's face contort in pain she immediately dropped the attack, jumping back in surprise. Let go, Haru stumbled backwards, flexing her arm and hissing out in pain.

"Haru," Makoto let out in a weak breath, staring at the other girl in amazement. A part of her knew that Haru would no longer carry the scars of the next year on her, just as was the case for all of them. Futaba would have both her eyes, Yusuke's face would lack the scars from the mauling he'd been victim to, and Haru . . . Makoto could only watch as she waved her arm around, happy to see it in motion once again. "You're alright."

"Well, my wrist hurts," Haru said, a teasing lilt rising above the genuine pain in her voice, and Makoto winced. "But otherwise yes. It's good to see you again, Mako-chan."

"Same," Makoto said, and, overwhelmed with relief at seeing another member of the group well, another member remembering her, she reached out and pulled the other girl into a gripping hug, inhaling the scent of vanilla that always clung to the heiress. "I was so scared I was on my own in this, after Ren stabbed us in the back I—"

"Ren?" Haru asked, genuinely confused, and Makoto stepped back, watching as the other girl titled her head to the side.

_ Does she not actually remember? Was she referring to some old meeting when we were kids I can't recall? Even so, I need to take the risk. _

"Haru, do you feel like you remember things which have yet to happened?"

"I do. I suppose you have as well?" Makoto nodded. "Thank goodness, if I had to go through this next year being the only one remembering the Phantom Thieves I don't think I'd have made it."

"Then you remember? How Ren betrayed us, how he killed—"

"Who is Ren?"

Confusion coursed through Makoto. "Ren? The transfer student who comes to Shujin this year? Joker?"

"Oh," Haru said, frowning. "Maybe we remember things differently then; I knew a person named Amamiya Akira, they were the leader of the Phantom Thieves. Their codename was Joker as well, so maybe we're thinking of the same person. I--wait, you said kill? What do you mean?"

"I mean it," Makoto said. "When he turned on us, there was a fight, and he . . ." She breathed deeply, trying to force out the words. Why was this so difficult, after she'd already witnessed the deed, had already shed all the tears she possibly could over it? "Ryuji got close enough to take a swing at him, and Ren fired his gun back. It killed Ryuji, right away, not even a chance to heal him first."

"What?" Haru exclaimed more than asked, bringing a hand up to her mouth. "That's awful, I'm . . . I'm so sorry to hear that."

"Sorry to hear that?" Makoto repeated, an edge to her voice.  _ Does it really not matter that much to her?  _

"He's still alive where I'm from," Haru said, stepping back and raising her hands in placation. Makoto frowned; she'd thought the irritation she'd felt was less apparent. Or maybe Haru was just good at reading her. "I'm sorry if I sounded somewhat distant, I just don't have the experience of what you're going through. I've had people die on me, of course. My father died when I was young in my world, maybe that happened in your world too. Other people I've been close to have passed away as well, but never before my eyes. Never so violently. And, I'm sorry about Ren. Akira was a good friend to me, I can't imagine what it must have felt like for them to betray you."

Makoto sighed, running a hand through her hair. "It was . . . it was the worst day of my life. But now we can do better, right? We're back at the start."

"Not as far back as I'd have liked," Haru murmured. Makoto shot her a look, and the other girl stepped back towards the table. Makoto followed and took a seat with her. "A few years further and we would be able to stop almost all of this from happening. If we were back there, we could stop Akechi from joining Shido. If we could make him see there were better ways to get his revenge—"

"Revenge?" Makoto cut the other girl off. "What sort of revenge would that lapdog want?"

"He's Shido's son, the son whose mother he abandoned. Akechi wanted revenge against him, and ingratiated himself to betray him later."

"Well, he was always a viper," Makoto mused, and Haru shook her head.

"He was a child who felt that he had to avenge his mother no matter what. He was stupid, yes, but in the end he was doing what he thought was right."

"Bullshit," Makoto said, crossing her arms. "He was old enough to know what he was doing. To know right from wrong. And if he was doing wrong, then it was our job to end him."

Haru frowned again. "Maybe. But those who are hurt don't always know the right thing anymore, I've learned. And besides, eighteen is still such a young age, with so much yet to learn in life that I hesitate to call anyone that old an adult."

_ Wait . . . how old is Haru?  _ She repeated the question aloud. "Oh," the other girl said. "I do suppose we might be at different ages after all. I turned fifty a month or two ago. It's very surreal, I must say, to be back in this body. I don't quite know how I feel about it."

Makoto nodded along mutely, unsure how to respond.  _ She'd be good counsel, but if she only thinks of me as a child . . . I can't afford that, not if we're going back into war. _

"May I ask about you?" Haru said.

"Forty-three," Makoto lied with ease. "Either way, I was hoping to get the other's contact info here. Get the band back together a little sooner, maybe get the Meta-Nav if I could."

"I had the same idea," Haru said. "But I figured it would be somewhat strange for a student to go asking for those things, so I came in here to think. I don't suppose it would make more sense for you to be in there."

Makoto sighed, leaning back in her chair. "It would be easier, no doubt, but still strange. But if there are two of us here, I suppose one could distract whoever is in there while the other gets the documents."

Haru beamed. "That sounds perfect. I must admit, I'm quite excited to see the others again. The Metaverse too--I'd been missing having a chance to use my scythe."

"Scythe?" Makoto asked, the sudden image of Haru dressed as death taking upon her.

"Yes . . . why? Did I use something different for you?"

"A-an axe."

"Oh, I suppose that's nearly as fun," the other girl--no, the other woman, offered. "Anyways, shall we get to work?"

_ What on Earth am I getting myself into?  _ Makoto thought.  _ Though, at the very least, I'm not getting into it alone. _

***

When Ann's phone rang that morning, she'd figured that it was most likely the agency wanted to set up another shoot, hoped it was Shiho, and dreaded that it was Kamoshida. Bizarrely enough, it was Sakamoto Ryuji, who had rambled for a half-dozen sentences, asked her to meet him at a local café, and then hung up. 

She was so sorely temped to ignore him, but he had sounded panicked, and they had been friends back in junior high. A part of her reminded the rest that he was a delinquent who had punched a teacher, but then the rest of her pointed out that, given  _ who _ he had punched, that should count in his favor rather than against. Eventually, she texted Shiho to tell the other girl where she would be, dressed in her frumpiest outfit possible, and went out.

It was late in the afternoon when she arrives at the café, located off of Shibuya's central street, and saw the other blonde sitting in a corner booth, hand drumming frenetically against the table. He gave her a subdued wave when she entered, but other than that didn't do anything. It seemed like the polar opposite of a Sakamoto action. Either way, she ordered herself a macchiato before eventually making her way over to the booth.

"Thanks for coming," Sakamoto said when she sat down. He sounded exhausted. "I needed to talk to someone about this, and I couldn't get in touch with anyone else." 

"Uh-huh. What's going on, Sakamoto-kun?" He stared at her with a pleading expression.  _ God, he looks strung out.  _ Hastily, she added. "It better not be drugs."

"What man, of course it's not drugs," he said, some of his usual bravado restored. "Though, bein' honest, I wouldn't blame ya if you thought it was?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"  _ Why couldn't he be weird on someone else's time!  _ She looked down at her drink. "I'm going to finish this, you have until I'm done to explain why you wanted to talk to me." She then took a long draught.

"Sure thing, sorry, it's just I freaked my mom out earlier and I don't wanna freak you out, wait, no, that's not helping. Okay, let me start over, have you ever seen the movie  _ Peggy Sue Got Married _ ?"

_ What? _

"What?" Of all the ways she expected the last sentence to go, Sakamoto asking about what was presumably some American film was not what she expected.  _ Maybe he wants to try and impress some girl. _

"Okay, nevermind, the film wasn't that important. It's just, I think I'm living something like it."

"Like what?" She glanced down at her drink and saw she'd only had a third. Hastily, she took another swig.

"This morning," he began, raising his hands up as he spoke, narrating along with them as equal partners. "I woke up with memories of the next fifteen years stuck in my head. I don't know why, but I'm stuck in my sixteen-year-old body and I know that this isn't a dream cause—"

"Alright," Ann cut him off, irritation spiking at his words. "Forget about the whole 'until the drink is finished' thing, I'm leaving now. Goodbye, Sakamoto-kun, and I wish you the best with whatever you're actually going through."

"Ann, wait! I'm not making this up. Here," he said, near hissing, as he passed some crumpled bills across the table. "For the train fare when we were kids, back at the aquarium."

"Oh joy, you finally remembered to pay me back for something that happened in the past," she shot back, refusing to touch the money. "I don't know how to tell you this, but the past isn't the future." With that, she stood up and began to turn.

She hadn't made it a single step when he spoke again. 

"I know you're in love with Shiho." 

She stopped. 

"I know you don't say anything, don't want to admit it, cause you're scared. Of if she says no, or what other people think."

"Shut up," she hissed, sitting back in the booth and trying to hide in the corner. "Just shut up."

Sakamoto gave her a sad smile. "Sorry. Didn't want to pull that on you, but I needed to say something you'd believe."

"As if," Ann shot back.  _ Please let today just be a dream, please let it just be a dream. _ "I still don't believe—"

"Next year, ya come to me for help asking her out," he continued. "We're friends with some other kids like that, and it gives you the confidence to come out. Was one of the bravest things I've seen. And you told me that you first fell in love with her the first time you, and I quote, 'saw her spike a volleyball on a motherfucker'." 

Ann just stared at him, unable to say anything, and so Sakamoto continued. "She said yes, by the way. And if I had my phone from my time on me, I could pull up your social media and show you your wed—"

"Okay, okay," Ann said, hiding behind her hands. "I—I believe you. Can we just . . . not talk about that. Besides, there are more important things."  _ Please let us move on to more important things than shattering my sense of my own sexuality.  _ "So, you've gone back in time. Why?"

"That's what I ain't so sure of," he admitted, running a hand through his hair. "Normally, you're sent back in time to learn some sorta lesson, at least that's what happens in stories. But I dunno what my lesson's s'posed to be, can't think of anything really wrong in my old life, and the only thing strange here I can think of is that my leg hurts. Don't remember that ever happening."

Ann frowned. "Sakamo—can I call you Ryuji? I know we used to, but if you're older now then . . ."

He beamed at the suggestion. "Course you can call me that! Way I see it, you're just a younger version of my best friend. No need to bring seniority into any of that."

Ann smiled at that. Before he'd gone his own way, that was the sort of warmth Ryuji always seemed to emanate. It was nice to see it again. "Thanks. Anyways, Ryuji, do you not remember your leg hurting like this? I can't imagine you'd forget Kamoshida-sensei doing something like that to you."

He frowned at the mention. "Who the hell is Kamoshida?" 

"Oh," Ann said, leaning back. "Ryuji, I don't think you're in the past. I think you're in a different world."

Across from her, Ryuji gaped, and Ann let out a chuckle at the sight. "Ya mean like alternate universes or stuff like that?"

Ann shrugged. "No idea, but we're gonna figure it out together."

"You mean you're gonna help me?"

"Why not," Ann said. "This is more interesting than anything else I could be doing."

***

The first thing Akira noticed when she woke up was that her head was on a head surface, her hair askew, stray strands stuck in her mouth. She coughed, pulling the strands from her mouth as she pulled her head up. God, her desk was not the place to be falling asleep at, especially after . . .

Wait. Her desk.

Akira's eyes flew open as she pushed her chair back, finding herself in her office in the Diet building, desktop in front of her turned off. Glancing about, she saw someone laying on the sofa against the wall asleep, the hood of their velvet blue sweatshirt pulled tightly shut to block out the light. Akira held back a snort at the sight; whichever teenager they'd brought on was clearly an amateur at falling asleep in daylight, whereas Akira had years to develop it. Though it had been a long time since she'd had to take a nap at work, generally only occurring when the Diet went into recess and was expected to have their session go late into the night. The last time she remembered that having happened was when, after far too long a fight, same-sex marriage was legalised across all of Japan—one of the best nights in her life.

Still, if she'd fallen asleep at the office, facing the uncomfortable reality of her desk as a pillow--alongside the stress of her home situation at that—it would explain the strange dream she'd had. But, thankfully, it was naught but a dream: she was back in the office she'd worked from for many years, her hair was once again falling to her shoulders and straightened by gravity, and she could feel the scratchy fabric of the types of button-ups she preferred to wear. Quickly, she grabbed her phone, pulling open her contacts and scrolling towards the middle of the alphabet. The nightmare had been terrible, but now she was home, and she could make everything right. Reaching the K's, she went to call her wife, cupping her phone close to her hand, so as to not wake the intern.

The call never made it through, skipping the busy tone to eject her from the call immediately. And as she stared down at her phone confused, she heard footsteps coming closer. A light voice spoke, one which she'd heard many, many years before, nearly forgotten to time.

"My, my, Trickster. I'm terribly sorry, no person deserves this fate delivered twice upon them. Yet still, you are here, and so I can only say this."

Akira looked up, dread pooling in her gut, as she saw a pale, long-nosed man walk forward, and talk a seat in the chair normally reserved for visitors. If she could have, she would have thrown him out of it.

"Welcome," Igor said, his voice seemingly weak, as he placed a hand upon the desk. "To the Velvet Room."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: mentions of death and significant injury, there is a brief reference to drug use, and a character lies about being an adult with the intent to manipulate another.
> 
> I'm happy to say that this concludes the introductory chapters—while you might have noticed a couple of figures are still absent or rarely mentioned, this marks the last chapter set exclusively on the day everyone returned on. To be honest this section was one I was not looking forward to, as while it's necessary to establish where everyone is and where they are coming from for the rest of the story to make sense, it also necessitated dragging out the opening past where I would have liked it to be without much in the way of forward momentum. Thankfully, though, that's now complete, and we will be able to move on to more exciting matters. As always, feedback is highly valued, critical and otherwise. Look forward to seeing you all next chapter!


	5. Discretion is the better part of denial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akira talks with Igor; Goro wallows in fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings can be found in the end of chapter notes.

"No. No, this isn't happening," Akira said. Even as the words fell from her, they felt weak. "This can't be happening."

The man in front of her seemed ill amused. The hand he had placed on the desk was retracted and he fixed his suit. "Denial ill suits you, Trickster."

"Shut up," Akira spat out. Igor's face remained unchanging and he folded his legs, unflinching. Akira continued against the impassive sight. "Why did you bring me here? I didn't want to be here, I don't want to be here. I just want to come home . . ." She stopped, voice hoarse, and pulled herself tight, hugging her arms to her chest. The position felt somewhat off to her, but she ignores that in favor of watching Igor, who sighed and steepled his hands.

"I would have you know, Trickster, that this decision was not mine. The power that brought you here stands in opposition to mine own. Though I've heard you're already unfortunately acquainted with that presence."

"Jaldabaoth," Akira muttered, and the man across from her nodded. She forced herself to pull apart, removing her hands from where they had stood as a shield. Her cheeks were red from embarrassment. "That . . . that does make more sense, I guess. Though shouldn't he control the Velvet Room? And what did you mean by hearing about me?"

Igor smiled. "I suppose it's best to answer those questions in reverse. Simply put, I am the master of this world's Velvet Room, but not that of your own world. In theory, these other worlds should be common, splitting off whenever major decisions occur. But this is my first time dealing with one world drawing upon another. As for learning about you: your travel between worlds may not have brought your Igor along, but your attendant, well, attendants do assist specific persons. Isn't that right?" He said, leaning back to look at the couch perched against the right wall.

The figure muffled something incomprehensible at the sound, flailing briefly before pushing themselves up. Thinking back, Akira realized the colour of their clothes should have been a tip-off, but even so, she couldn't help but experience a twinge of surprise when Lavenza pulled the hood back, revealing a face more in line with someone in their early twenties, golden eyes framed by close-cut white hair that barely reached the tip of her ears.

"H-hi, Lavenza," Akira eventually managed to pull together. "It's been a while."

"Mm," Lavenza agreed, rubbing her eyes with her palm. "As they might say, 'wassup'?" The words came out as more of a grumble. 

Akira could barely think of what to reply with. Eventually, she settled on, "Who's they?"

The only response she received was a groan.

"I apologise for her state," Igor interjected. "Ever since the both of you arrived this morning, I've been questioning her to make sure I understood all I could."

"Fair," Akira said before taking another look at Lavenza, who was now fiddling with her shoe—her sneakers, that was. She was also wearing jeans, Akira noticed. "What's up with the new look. It's very . . . different." That seemed like the most diplomatic word to use at present. Maybe her brain was waking up after all.

"I'm your attendant," Lavenza explained, removing her hand from her shoes to instead push herself further into a sitting position. "We grow in synchronicity with one another, and so I change to complement you. Over the years since we have seen each other, you have grown more introspective, more cerebral. And so, as a counterbalance, I've grown to be more worldly, more grounded."

"I see. Thanks for the explanation."

"No problem. Now if you'll excuse me, I didn't think it was possible for an attendant to get an exhaustion-headache. Apparently we can, so I'm going to go get some caffeine." As she said that, Lavenza pushed off from the coach and made a beeline for the door that went out to the hallway. Apparently, in this version of the Velvet Room, it was the exit. Finally, something that seemed reasonable.

Akira and Igor sat in silence for a moment after Lavenza left. Eventually, Igor chuckled. "What a strange girl. Spirited too. Her words when we first met were quite sharp."

"Well, she helped quite a lot. I'm sure she'll do a good job as your assistant this time."  _ Now that she's no longer a pair of amnesiacs, that is. _

"Attendant?" Igor asked, before chuckling. The high pitch of his voice caused Akira's skin to crawl, albeit less so than the voice of metal she was familiar with. "The girl may have been my other self's assistant, but she and I lack any such relationship. In our current arrangement, I imagine she will serve more as an advisor. She seems far more determined to keep her initiative than most assistants I've worked with. Considering her history, I can't blame her." He shrugged. "Onto the matter at hand, then."

Akira nodded. "So, Jaldabaoth was the one who sent me here. If we're here, then I guess in this world he never took control of the Velvet Room, and as such he felt the need to cheat in other ways."

"We're of the same mind there, Trickers. Or should I call you Representative K—"

Akira raised her hand. "Just Trickster is enough. My question then is why he brought me back. Unless he expects for me to be disoriented by all the changes, in which case I. . . actually, wait a moment. I noticed some people, other members of the group who were related to the fight with Jaldabaoth, were acting strangely. Could they also remember this? Or am I the only one?"

"Your attendant and I discussed that at length. At present, we believe you are not the sole person to experience this shift, though we don't know how many people would be returned, or from what worlds they come. As for the why, we likewise are unsure as to the logic. Though it stands to reason he would not bring veterans to face him unless he believed he held the upper hand in other ways."

"What are we thinking then? That he brought Thieves from different worlds in order to create the worst possible team to take him on?"

"It's certainly a possibility."

"Well, there goes my self-esteem," Akira joked, chuckling quietly before drifting into uncomfortable silence. "Hey, if the Velvet Room was never taken over by Jaldabaoth, does that mean you never made Morgana?"

"Morgana?"

Akira sighed. "Guess that answers that question. I'm gonna miss having that furball around." Just one more piece of home she would have to get used to missing. "Do you know, is there a way for us to get home?"

"As of yet? I'm afraid not."

"Figures."  _ I shouldn't have expected to have a lucky break of any sort today. _

Opposite her, Igor shuffled about. "Your attendant and I will do everything in our power to find that route home for you all."

"Thanks, Igor," Akira said, giving the man a weak smile. "I don't mean offense, but I'll be happy to be gone from this place and back home."

It was odd, how approachable he seemed now. Even after meeting the real version of him following Jaldabaoth's flight from the Velvet Room, he had always seemed like a larger than life figure.

Now, though? Powerful, certainly. Knowledgeable, absolutely. But a man he seemed nonetheless, like any one of the many politicians she'd spoken with. More refreshingly honest than most, too.

"I don't blame you," Igor said. "I understand you have people waiting for you."

She smiled. "I do. Although . . . I'm not looking forward to seeing my wife." She paused. "An awful thing to say, I know."

He frowned. "May I ask why?"

She nodded, moving her computer monitor out of the way so he could see her hands as they moved with her speech. "As I see it, there are four outcomes, based on two variables. One, can I go home. If I can, and she doesn't remember in this world, then I have to live an uncomfortable year until I go home and see my family. If I can't go home, then I'm stuck knowing I'll never see her or our daughter again. Or, well, not the version of her I know. And I'm not going to try and enter a relationship with her again, because doing so knowing so much would be incredibly wrong to do. Not to mention that our relationship started out after we hadn't seen each other for almost a decade, so I can't guarantee to replicate the circumstances that led to it. I mean, I'd have to go through this year the same, graduate and get the exact same job, she'd have to get into political activism in the same manner, and then we'd have to meet in the same meeting we both went to last time. Not the best of odds.

"On the other hand, though, if she does remember me. Remember _ us.  _ Then we have to deal with the fact that we left our daughter behind for either a year or the rest of our lives. And that last possibility . . . I don't think either of us would be able to cope with it."

"A vexing possibility indeed," Igor said. "Nonetheless, we can't solve it here. For now, I have one last piece of knowledge to give you, and then we must part ways. The night is waning."

"Sure thing. And, for what it's worth, thanks. You're more talkative than I remember. I think I needed that."

He nodded. "Regardless, you should know, as you've likely already guessed, that each ally you gain is unknown territory. Treat them evenly, and do not be surprised if they show to be different than you remember. Now, Trickster, I bid you awaken. Greet the day with courage. You will need it, I imagine."

***

Leblanc bled. Not the author, of course (though Goro imagined that at some point, when he still had blood, he must have also bled), but rather the café. All it's denizens, the Phantom Thieves and those close to them, we're all sitting in the booths and chattering. Ann had wanted to bring her friend to the place she'd been spending her time. Haru wanted to show her father a café like the one she wanted to open. The Niijima family had seemingly come on a whim, stuffed into one of the booths. Morgana sat on one of them farther stools, fiddling with a flaxen scarf he'd recently picked up. All of them talking, laughing, enjoying their lives. Akira was resting his head on Goro's shoulder, arms curled around one of his own.

And not a single damn one of them could tell that the walls were bleeding. He tapped Akira on the shoulder, pointed to where the blood was pooling in the counter, and his boyfriend's response was to chuckle and kiss him on the cheek.

That was when everything _ really _ went to hell. Although, truly, they were already there.

He noticed too late what was happening to Isshiki Wakaba, the open sores and bleeding wounds appearing too quickly to count. Even still, she continued her conversation, continued it as her body decayed and fell apart into blood and muscle and organs. Her daughter, who had been sitting next to her, just continued talking, turning to Sojiro to keep the conversation flowing. Blood coated the right side of her face.

Okumura Kunikazu was next, his teeth finding themselves scattered across the table he'd been sitting at with his child. Another squelching sound alerted Goro to the fact that the same was happening to Sae's father.

The stool on which Morgana had sat was already bloody and empty by the time Goro noticed it.

He turned to Akira. "Please," he started. "You have to see that something's wrong, you of all people, I—" He was forced to cough, a wet, ripping sound coming from deep within his body. When he pulled his arm away from his mouth, his inner elbow was coated in blood. Blood ran down his cheek from the open gunshot wound his cognitive form had left upon him. He felt his face where the blood was pouring and it sagged inward. Instead, he raised the hand to Akira, who caught it and rested the hand against his cheek, watching with constant affection as Goro fell apart in front of him.

And then Goro woke with a scream, clutching at his body, hands running all across it until he was sure he wasn't dying anymore. He sighed with the realisation, dropping his arms and trying to will his heart into a more regular beat. It had been years since he had a nightmare of Maruki's world, why on Earth would he have one now?

He scoffed at his own question, the answer coming to him as he pulled himself from bed. The nightmares tended to come when he was alone, capable of getting lost in his own head, without anyone to pull him back to the moment. They'd been at their worst when he had taken up residence in a mental hospital for a year after Maruki's reality fell apart, without any members of his old life around him. No, in a similar isolation, they returned almost instantaneously.

_ Pathetic, _ a voice inside him crowed ( _ ha-ha _ , maybe Akira's terrible sense of humor was rubbing off on him). Without much else to do, he stood, finding a cable-knit sweater in the closet and pulling it on. Thankfully this Goro's closet was near identical to his own at this age, meaning he now possessed a number of articles of clothing he actually liked, as opposed to those he had felt possessed to wear. In the meantime, that meant a sweater and khakis, as well as tying his hair back in a messy tail. No one was watching to see what he did, and besides, he was thinking of cutting back on the pomp of his appearances. It was such a hassle to maintain, and none of it had ever supplied any real amount of happiness.

_ God, I was an idiot back then,  _ he thought as he moved around the small apartment, grabbing what he needed for a cup of tea. Sleep would be a stranger to him tonight, judging by the past instances of nightmares regarding Maruki. An unfortunate reality he was used to dealing with.

As he putzed about the kitchenette, the spare phone Futaba had given him that afternoon lit up, and Goro spared a glance towards it.

Getting the Band Back Together

Accordion: looks like Sojiro thinks sumthings off w/me . . . oops

Trumpet: What did you do?

Trumpet: . . .

Trumpet: And when did you change our names?

Accordion: got bored, decided on a theme. as 4 Sojiro? no idea, I was just getting sum h2o when he got home and said hi. next thing i know he's staring at me like I grew three more heads

Trumpet: The inconsistency in your spelling is quite irritating, it's almost compelling.

Trumpet: Also, at least in my world, you were a complete shut-in. Maybe it's the same case here?

Accordion: ooohhhhhhhhh

Accordion: yeah prbbly oh well ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Accordion: oh btw i talked to Akira and pretty sure that akira ain't our akiras

Trumpet: ???

Accordion: not my place 2 say, but akira told me some personal stuff that's vry diff from our own

Accordion: oh also im gonna try to steal her phone so we can get Meta-Nav

Accordion: meet up with you to do that SIM card forgery thingy and get you the nav like a responsible older sis

Trumpet: Would you not be the younger sister? Also, please decide between if you're going to capitalise words or not. Or if you use 2 or to.

Trumpet: Your plan sounds good though. Let me know where I should meet you.

Accordion: will do o7

Goro let out a soft chuckle as he set his phone down, taking a long draught from the mug. It wasn't perfect, but it would keep him settled and calm through the night, until he learned if he was going out to the city or would be able to go back to sleep. He yawned. A very strong part of him hoped it would be the latter.

And besides, if he could put off having to meet Futaba for another day, that would be ideal. He didn't hate her, far from it. While exhausting to deal with most of the time, she was one of the few Thieves he had considered to be competent, and highly so, in their chosen field, as well as in their general actions. Eccentric, to be sure, but anyone who could be considered singlehandedly responsible for finding his connection to Shido couldn't be all that awful. The fact that they actually shared a number of interests didn't hurt their growth together, though Goro was pleased that this version of her had not yet taken to spamming his phone at odd hours with memes or videos about how to clip through the floor of fighting game maps. Even at their closest; however, there was a gulf which they had never crossed, crested by his participation in her mother's death, a gulf which both sides willingly persisted.

And now, there was a version of her who never knew that pain, who was only learning it now. It seemed distance from the event, both temporal and metaphysical, was shielding her from the brunt of it. It was one thing for your mother to die in front of your eyes, preempting years of trauma. It was another thing entirely to learn of the death of one like your mother—but not the specific person who raised you—years after the fact, not knowing any of the terrible things which had happened in interim. The girl he had seen earlier was hurt by the event, yes, but not tremendously so.

He took another sip of his drink.

They hadn't even been back for a day yet. Maybe her sorrow would deepen as the reality sunk in. Certainly, it would deepen if he told her the truth, that it was his fault her mother was dead. In at least one universe, maybe two now. Maybe others, if his worst fears were met and seen to be true.

He had meant to tell her. No good relationship could be built on lies, and if she were to try and get close to him, invariably some working relationship would result. He had planned the words, clear, concise, without excuses.

Yet, when he opened his mouth to speak, the words failed to rise, only silence coming from his form. He'd tried a handful of times to find the right place, only to leave having lied to her.

A lie by ommission, but a lie nonetheless. It served as a thorned mantle, piercing his shoulders as he made his way home. It was stupid, how fear had risen in him when he tried to speak. Fear of losing an ally, fear of retribution, fear of disappointing someone who actually seemed genuinely pleased to be with him, not because they wished something from him . . . fear of being alone.

It was stupid, how even after he had recognised the points by which others had manipulated him, recognised how his pitiful self-worth had let him be danced around like a marionette by Shido, he was still victim to it. Seeing the strings made little difference in one's ability to have them cut, it seemed. 

He sighed, nudging the phone with his finger.  _ You have to tell her. This venture must be started honestly, if you're to get anywhere. And maybe, once you're through the wall of the storm, the shame and the guilt can be swept away, and something new can be built on the foundations. _

Steeling himself, he opened the chat back up. To delay for a moment while he rediscovered his words, he read the chat back over. But then, seeing something, he paused, and typed something else out, attention having completely switched tracks.

Trumpet: wait

Trumpet: her?

Trumpet: ???

Accordion: . . .

Accordion: meant to not tell anyone before akira did . . .

Accordion: FUCK

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: Descriptions of blood, gore, and viscera during a dream sequence. A trans woman is unintentionally outed by one friend to another, due to the friend correctly gendering her.
> 
> This chapter is brought to you by Lavenza saying 'wassup' in Royal. Additionally, the decision to spell Jaldabaoth/Yaldabaoth with a J comes from the fact that the soundtrack uses a J, as well as the fact that I'll be using a rather different interpretation/characterisation of the character than we see in canon, so I wanted to use a different name to differentiate that.
> 
> I went back and forth for a while on what instrument I wanted Futaba to refer to herself as in the group chat, before deciding that she would find the accordion funny.
> 
> Next time, we finally reach April 10th. A huge thanks to everyone for their thoughts, as always, feedback is much appreciated. Also, bonus points to anyone who can get the two major developments I've been trying to foreshadow these past few chapters before they happen.
> 
> Until next time, I hope everyone enjoys the story and stays safe in these trying times.


	6. Crash Course

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akira comes out; Futaba takes a train.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings can be found in the end of chapter notes.

The cold of Mementos was bitter, but on the surface was reduced to a slight nip. Bundled under a coat and blanket, one could easily rest there, safe from any shadows which might encroach from below. The fact that, above the surface, it was near a one-to-one recreation of the normal world meant that, should one play their cards right, it was fairly easy to find some place with a bed one could sleep upon, even if no buildings had its heat working. No one knew about its existence, so there was no one to tell a person they had to get out of a house or pay rent.

All of this was very beneficial to Morgan, who had woken a month ago with no memories, barely any money in his pockets, and no ideas as to what his life had been like before his amnesia. All he knew was that he had woken up one day in the back alleys of a section of town called Yongen-Jaya with a guitar case lying next to him, the instrument within finding its place in his hands naturally. He supposed he ought to feel grateful that he knew music had played a part in his past. It didn’t help much.

The other thing he had realised, rather quickly and entirely by misfortune, was that he was capable of travelling between Mementos and the real world at will, something which appeared to be unique to him, judging by the confusion that had arisen in others when he had mentioned the place. Naturally, he had tried investigating Mementos further, stepping down into the subway lines that sprawled out like veins beneath the city’s surface. He’d barely gotten any distance before the monsters that lived beneath the surface forced him back. 

They’d hurt like nothing else too. 

With all this information, Morgan had set up a system for himself. Sleep in the house he’d commandeered in Mementos, wake up, make some money or shop for necessities, return to Mementos, and gradually chip away at the underground, following blindly the compulsion which led him deeper. On days when he could afford to eat someone else’s cooking, he would go to the café in Yongen-Jaya. It was slow work, but progress was being made, he felt. That was what he told himself on rough days, at the least.

He woke up on Sunday the tenth to the chill and grumbled, pulling his coat and scarf close, hoping to extract some warmth from the layers. The familiar hum of his Persona flickered into being in the back of his head as he lifted himself from the tangle of blankets. It quieted down as his head cleared of its grogginess, satisfied that he was not in danger. It was always skittish when he fell asleep in Mementos.

Morgan paced, flexing his fingers to break them from sleepy stiffens as he moved. His entire body was sore after some of the hits he had taken late last night going through Mementos. The creatures down there—Shadows, that part of himself he didn’t fully understand, supplied—had seemed riled up last night. As though something had occurred. He hoped nothing had. Instability was the last thing Morgan wanted right now.

Breakfast was a cereal bar washed down with water. The one nice thing about Mementos: water was always nicely chilled. He sighed, and rubbed the exhaustion from his eyes. “What time is it even?” he asked the emptiness.

_ You have a watch, you know,  _ the voice in his head replied. He chuckled mirthfully at the thought. The first time he had tried to explain Personas to another person—he had been idly speaking to the proprietor of Leblanc—the man had given him a look so confused, negative, and intense that he had firmly decided to never speak to another person on the matter again. At least the man was swiftly brought back onto his side by the simple exchange of money for food. 

Still, he took the advice of his inner self and checked the cheap plastic watch he had picked up after realising punctuality would be important for the jobs he had managed to accrue, the few that didn’t bother asking a person to provide some form of identification. Morgan had the sneaking suspicion that they weren’t supposed to do that. Didn’t stop him from accepting the positions. Food, sadly, did not come free in life. 

Regardless, it was almost ten in the morning. On a day upon which he hadn’t one of his jobs, thankfully. Those days were by far his favorite, simply because that meant he could spend it raising money in a way which actually brought him joy. With relish, he shook out his limbs, grabbed his guitar case, and set off down the streets of Tokyo, stepping back into reality when he was comfortably situated in an alleyway he was sure was empty.

Busking was, technically, illegal in Japan. Technically. Morgan had yet to see a police officer stop a busker, himself included. 

There was a particular station he had an eye on, a slight ways off of Shibuya’s main station, which seemed like a reasonable place to go right now. He tied his stringy black hair back in a ponytail and hoped that the scraggle on his chin added to his mystique. He doubted it. He knew he looked fairly unkempt, but he’d been told that it had only added to the aesthetic when he was busking. Besides, he made sure to clean it up as much as he could before work. But this was busking. Busking permitted a ragged aesthetic. And in that, he was fast becoming an experienced hand.

Morgan received a few odd looks from people when he situated himself in the station, laying out his case and tuning the guitar. He took a brief thought as to what songs he would play—despite his lack of memories, he thankfully remembered a number of songs, and had taught himself a handful of others. Strangely, some he hadn’t been able to find any hint of during his few internet searches. He figured they must have been his own.

Finished with tuning, he finally decided on a song, and began to play with deliberate motions. A few people hung around as he worked through the first song and then the next, becoming lost in the music. Very faintly, he heard the sounds of a few people tossing him coins, but he let it go past him. Technically, he was doing this for money. Technically. In truth; however, this was for him. This was for him to express his emotions to others, the one chance he had to do that, the most acceptable form of pouring out his fear, bewilderment, and his hope. Therapy was far from possible for him, and so this would have to do.

It was halfway through his fourth song that a new person stepped into the station, some well-dressed boy with shoulder length brown hair. Morgan only paid him a brief glimpse at first, enough to acknowledge his presence. The boy had likewise only spared him a glance at first, focused instead on his phone. And so the two were contented to ignore the other, and Morgan continued to play and sing about jazz and the healing effect of music. It was only afterwards, when Morgan took a long drink of water and prepared for the next song, did the boy glance over to him again. The look was equally short before he turned his attention to the tracks. But then he looked back, blinked, and scowled. 

_How curious._ Morgan couldn’t remember ever meeting this individual before. Unless he had some deep and abiding hatred of unkemptness. Morgan deeply hoped not. It wasn’t easy to keep up appearances when one barely had any money, no ID of any kind, and spent most nights fighting for his life in a parallel universe.

He hadn’t the time to focus on that; however, as the boy was stalking over to him now. “Morgana?!” he hissed as he came close, eyes wild with what seemed, by Morgan’s own judgment, to be confusion and deep, deep anger. Or frustration. Maybe indigestion.

“Uh,” Morgan sputtered, moving his guitar to the side and pulling spare strands of hair away from his face. “Hi? Do I know you? Also, it’s Morgan, not Morgana. Small thing, I know, just one letter difference, but it’s . . . it bothers me. And—wait a second, you know me?”

The boy growled. “Of course I know you. I just can’t—ugh, I should have expected that we’d be stuck with a version of you that fell for Maruki’s bullshit! And what do you mean, ‘Do I know you’?”

Morgan stumbled back as the boy spat. Looking for a moment’s interlude, he leaned down and gathered up the money which had been gathered so far. Not a huge amount, but he wasn’t going to complain. Above him, the rude boy began to tap his foot, starting slowly but speeding up the longer Morgan took. Eventually, he jumped back up and faced the boy, hair waving about in the motion. “Just that. I don’t recognise you. Though I don’t really remember many things, to be honest.” His face fell a little at the admission. Being vulnerable around others felt wrong in an innate way. “If I should remember you, I’m sorry. Please be patient with me.”

The boy growled again, which seemed to be a popular activity for him. “Alright. Do you, by chance, remember Sakura Futaba? She’s going to be meeting me here, so if you do still know her, then  _ maybe _ we can have a meaningful conversation.”

Morgan sighed and shook his head. “The name doesn’t mean anything. A friend?”

“Yes,” the boy muttered. “A friend of yours and an acquaintance of mine. I  _ cannot  _ believe this is happening. God is testing me, that is the only possible answer.” Morgan didn’t bother answering, instead pulling his scarf up to hide his chin and began to pack his guitar up. Judging by how anyone else who had been around had dispersed with the other boy’s arrival. Besides, the chance to learn something about his past, now presented, was infinitely more interesting. As he was moving about, he heard the tail end of more muttering. “When I get back, Akira better be grateful for me taking care of his useless cat.”

“Cat?” Morgan asked as he stood back up. “You’re taking care of someone’s cat. And who’s Akira? Coworker? Friend? Boyfriend?”

The other boy stared at him, expression completely dead. Silence reigned between them. Then, he glanced back to the tracks. “When the fuck is Sakura-chan going to be getting here?” Having spoken thusly, without waiting for Morgan, he stalked off to the tunnel's edge. 

Morgan held back for a moment, pinched the bridge of his nose, and forced himself to follow. 

Stability was certainly gone, stability which he had strongly wished for. This was something new, and it held within itself a compulsion strong as Mementos. No matter the suspicions, no matter the misgivings, he would follow this new hook.

“Hey there,” Morgan said as he neared the track. The other boy glanced up. “I wanted to apologise. Not that I think I’ve done something wrong. But I’m sorry about this situation. I’m sure you’re dealing with a lot right now. So thank you for taking your time with this.” In the corner of his eye, Morgan saw one of the employees approach the track and stick their head out to watch the tunnel. Someone was speaking through their radio.

The boy was silent for a long, long minute before huffing. “Let’s just get through this.”

“Sure.” With that said, Morgan quieted himself and tucked his hands into his pockets. From down the tunnel, Morgan could hear a train approaching.

“Ugh, finally,” the brunette said, rolling his head as he spoke. “I swear, this place reminds me of . . . wait—”

“What?” Morgan said, trying to follow where he’d been looking. He could see the train’s lights, certainly, and they seemed to be getting close awfully quickly. The P.A. sounded at that moment, mentioning something about technical difficulties.

He didn’t have a chance to comprehend it; though, because at the same moment the employee began speaking into his radio.

“Shit!” the boy snarled before grabbing Morgan and throwing him to the side. 

Morgan hit the ground hard, head slamming into the concrete and guitar case spilling away. He barely had time to clear his vision before he felt someone land right next to him. For a moment, he saw the boy laying on the ground, hands clasped over his head. Then the sound of earth erupting and steel shrieking entered his ears, and he ducked away. Then there was only noise and heat and wind. 

It took Morgan a long while to differentiate between noises, or to even hear anything which was not the grinding of metal. Finally; though, after several minutes, the noises of the train began to fade, replaced by screams and whimpers.

Terrified, Morgan raised his head. Splinters of metal were scattered across the ground, and minor cuts crossed his hands from where they had pierced his flesh. The brunette was similarly injured, but he began to rise. Morgan followed, not wanting to be useless, wincing as pain shot through his hands and neck with each movement. “You alright?” he managed to get out.

“Been better,” the boy said, rising to his knees. “But . . .” he paused as he looked on at the wreckage. The cars had spilled out over the station, one crashing into a pillar. The both of them had narrowly escaped being struck by one of the cars. Looking out over the carnage, Morgan could see they were some of the lucky ones. The sight brought him to his knees, bile rising in his throat and escaping. Beside him, the boy glanced about, before his eyes came to the car above them. There were cries of pain coming from it, and the boy’s eyes went wide. He was still for a moment, then he sprung forward, onto his feet and slamming into the nearest door. Morgan watched as he stabbed his fingers into the seal and pulled it apart, an animalistic scream rising from his throat as the doors began to slowly tilt.

It took a moment before comprehension fully caught up with his eyes, but then he pushed himself up and joined in, pulling at the door with all of his strength. Pain coursed through his arms, but slowly the doors were pushed open, and the two moved into the car.

***

Akira leaned her head back in Sojiro’s car, trying to ignore the speed at which her leg was jostling.

“Ease it down, will you,” Sojiro said as they turned the corner. “You know, you should be grateful—most schools wouldn’t take someone with your sort of record. This is the one place that saved you from juvie.”

“I know,” Akira murmured. “Just nervous. I really hope it goes well.”  _ And I know it won’t.  _ And she’d forgotten to grab her phone this morning thanks to nerves.

Sojiro chuckled. “Fair, I suppose.” They turned down another street, and he continued speaking, apparently needing to find ways to fill the silence. “You know, I don’t normally allow men into my front seat.”

_ Oh look, the pain from yesterday is back,  _ Akira thought.  _ Though, if you’re already nervous about this, I suppose a little bit more couldn’t hurt . . . _

“Actually,” she said, then stopped, unsure of how to continue. Obviously Futaba knew what being trans meant, but she’d never figured out if Sojiro knew before he passed away in the old timeline. Certainly never learned what he’d thought of her. 

But more importantly, she knew that at his core Sojiro was a good person. She’d just have to trust that. “I’m not exactly a man. Do you know what being trans means?”

“Hmm? Oh, that’s um, well . . .” he paused for a long moment, tapping a finger against the steering wheel. “Are you saying you’re a girl?” She nodded, and for once she was thankful for time-travel bullshit, because it meant that all her anxiety was focused elsewhere. By contrast, coming out at a time when it was significantly more rare, in front of an older man who held absolute power over her living situation was totally comfortable. “Alright. And what do you want me to do with that?”

“Oh,” she started, stammering for a brief second. “You don’t need to  _ do  _ anything with it. Just wanted you to know. And maybe, if you don’t mind, maybe don’t call me a boy or a man in private.”

“Of course,” he said quickly. “I can do that. I won’t be signing off on any medications though, I’m fairly certain that you’d need your parent’s approval instead of mine for that anyways. If you cause any trouble either, you’re still going to be out of my hands. But that, that isn’t trouble. And I don’t want you to think that it is. Is there a name I should call you by?”

She shook her head. “I’ve been Akira my entire life, and it’s gender neutral enough for me. It’d be a hassle at this point to change it.”

“You talk as if you aren’t just a teenager,” Sojiro said. “And besides, it doesn’t have to be a legal change. Considering how we handle it here, keeping it below the law might actually be the best idea. Just if there is something, let me know.”

“Alright. T-thank you. I didn’t know how you’d take it,” she admitted. Her eyes felt runny, and she raised a hand to dry them. “So thank you for that.” Inside her mind, thoughts were whirring about.  _ He knows about the GID Special Cases Act? Well, he was a government worker—but even then, who would pay attention to a 2004 ruling about a specific gender minority? _

Sojiro only hummed nonchalantly. “It’s no issue. Stuff like this is—oh, we’re here.” The car slowed, and Akira looked out the window to see that yes indeed, they were outside of Shujin. She sighed and stepped out of the car.  _ Time to face the music.  _ As she stepped around the car, she heard Sojiro’s phone ring, and not for the first time, she wished that she had remembered to bring her own with her. At first, she didn’t pay any attention to his call, but then he let out a yelp and she turned around.

“What do you mean the hospital? How did she even—yes, yes, I’ll be there right now. Kurusu-chan. Kurusu-chan!” Akira blinked as she realised he was speaking to her, embarrassment flushing through her. “I know I said I would go in with you, but I need to go. My . . . someone I know is in the hospital right now, and I need to go make sure they’re okay. If the school asks why I’m not there, just tell them they can call me later.” He waved her over, and she stepped towards the car door. Quickly, he pushed a handful of bills into her hand. “In case you need money getting home. Now, are you going to be okay?”

_ No.  _

“Yes. You go ahead. I hope that whoever it is is alright.” She stepped away from the car and watched as Sojiro peeled out as fast as he legally could, clasping a hand to her chest.  _ What the hell? There’s only one person he’d react like that for . . . _

_ What the hell happened to Futaba? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: injury and death of multiple persons, train crash. One main character's fate is left unknown. A character is unintentionally misgendered, and there is brief reference to a *very* transphobic law, though it is not described in detail.
> 
> For those curious, the song referenced in this chapter is Hozier's Almost (Sweet Music); the reason why Morgan couldn't find any reference of it and assumed he wrote it was because it wouldn't be released until 2019. I imagine that Morgan comes from a universe where all the events of P5 happen a few years later than the other universes, because I can't imagine that angsty, politically-focused Hozier would still write the same songs as in real life had he been in Maruki's reality for a few years.
> 
> Also, I'm now able to write this using an actual computer instead of my phone, so hopefully future chapters will feature fewer typos--I've noticed a number in previous chapters that I'm going to be going back and correcting over the next few days.


	7. Words Left Unspoken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yusuke denies his friends; Akira faces consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings can be found in the end of chapter notes, alongside a fairly lengthy and indulgent explanation of some of my creative decisions from this chapter.

If Madarame noticed Yusuke’s prolonged absence yesterday, he had not brought it to Yusuke himself. He hadn’t seen the man the previous night whatsoever, nor this morning. The man was likely at his Mistresses’ home, if Yusuke knew anything about him. It granted Yusuke time to plan his escape from Madarame’s influence. Being the sole source of new paintings, should Yusuke walk away, he would likely be pursued. Either that, or Madarame would find some other hapless child to take and abuse. While Yusuke may have decided to not join the Thieves, he refused to hoist his yoke upon another innocent.

But then, what did that leave to him? Watch events play out as before, waiting for freedom from his master’s grasp? That would take too long—already rage simmered underneath his surface, and he feared for what should happen should they come into contact.

Find evidence of Madarame’s wrongdoings and expose him, then? A woefully naïve plan, even he had to admit it. 

And then came the question of what he would do afterwards—even Yusuke knew how focused he could get on one topic, to the exclusion of all other walks of life. Truthfully, his ability to survive day to day on his own, had it not been for the other Thieves, was pitiful at best.

He sighed, stretched, and continued rooting through the old boxes he’d become engrossed in. Right now, he needed to be able to let free his thoughts, to be productive without whirling gnats of errant view. For that, he needed to lose himself in composition, in the creation of art. 

But something which Madarame would never be able to plagiarise, never be able to use for monetary gain. 

He grabbed another spray can and stuffed it into his bag. The assortment of colours seemed decent enough. In truth, Yusuke had little to no experience with the techniques and theories of street art, but one had to start somewhere. And besides, if his art was on the side of some building somewhere, it wouldn’t exactly be the sort of thing Madarame would be willing to claim. And maybe divorcing his creation from his self, creating art detached from his ego, would be cleansing.

The air was crisp as he exited the atelier, hefting the bag on his shoulder and slipping on some headphones. This time around he found himself listening to some acid house music his old shackmate had left behind—certainly not his favourite, but the composition was interesting, and it offered variance on his normal listening habits. Music playing, he began to walk down the road towards the spot he had in mind.

Yusuke had made it only half a block before he realised someone was following him, the hairs on his neck rising as though the Reaper were in pursuit. 

He turned, curious, and saw Makoto and Haru walking his way. He fiddled with the music as he waited for them, managing to turn it off just as Makoto finished stalking up to him.

“Hello there,” Haru spoke before Makoto managed to, waving a hand happily at him. He nodded in response, hands full. “By chance, do you remember us?”

“I suppose it would make sense that I was not the only one to return,” he said, and breathed out a sigh of relief.  _ The sheer joy at not being alone . . .  _ “Would you consent to speaking as we walk? I do have a destination in mind.”

“Certainly,” Haru said, voice cheerful, and they began to move.

“One thing we’ve realised,” Makoto began as they crossed the street, “is that we both remember different, contradictory events. For one, our ages are different by a number of years now, and we’ve noticed a number of other differences. We were wondering about your own history.” There was something else, behind her words. Yusuke couldn’t quite touch upon it, and decided to leave it for later.

“We died fighting Shido,” he said instead. Keeping it blunt, without detail, hadn’t hurt as much as he thought it would. “Or I did, at the least. The fate of the others, I do not know.”

“Oh Yusuke . . .” Haru whispered. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”

“We should have expected it,” Yusuke said, fiddling with his bag. “After Ren passed, our chances were well and truly spent.”

“Ren . . . Ren died?” Makoto sounded as though she couldn’t believe it. At the time, Yusuke hadn’t believed either. The boy had always seemed larger than life. Perhaps, in the end, he had bought into his own mythology. Perhaps they all had.

“He had. He attempted to save Akechi, an effort near Shakespearian in its tragedy and futility.” In the past, it might have been the sort of action and mindset which he would have praised. How young and foolish he had been. How young and foolish he still was. At least now he could work on bettering himself.

“Akechi,” Makoto muttered, expression dark. “I swear it seems there’s no universe where he’s worth saving?” Yusuke noticed that Haru frowned at the words, seemingly barely refraining from adding her own words while Makoto continued. “In my world, he convinced Ren to betray us. When we tried to talk them down, when we tried to rely on their goodwill . . . it wasn’t pretty. I understand that you both have positive impressions of him, and I’ll do my best to respect that. It’s just, we have one reality where he actively went against us, and one where he let his emotions get the better of him. When it comes to the issue of Akechi, he doesn’t exactly have a good track record.”

Haru hummed. “There is also the matter of Maruki’s reality, I suppose.”

“Maruki?” Yusuke and Makoto both asked in sync.

“It’s a long story—we can get into it later. For now though, I was wondering about you, Yusuke. I can’t imagine it must be easy for you to be back here.”

“I’m coping,” Yusuke replied, turning them around another block, bringing them closer into Shibuya’s downtown. Somewhere around here was the underpass that seemed not to see much use . . . “I’ve been trying to keep away from Madarame as much as possible, which has been fruitful. There is much on my mind, and taking the time for myself has been most ideal.”

“That’s . . . good,” Makoto said. “As for the Phantom Thieves; however, I think it’s best if we meet the others as soon as possible. We can get them all together tomorrow and go over our plans for the first few palaces—”

“Actually, I won’t be joining you,” Yusuke said.

“Wha-what do you mean?”

“Simply that.” They were nearing the underpass, and he took a quick glance about before taking the stairs down. “As deliverers of justice, our actions were distorted, just as those we hunted. If I am to join this hunt, I must be assured it is in the right.” He set down his bag as he spoke, unzipped it, and began searching for a piece of unclaimed space upon the wall. He may not have much experience with street art, if any, but he imagined that going over one of the other artist’s work would be in bad taste.

“Excuse me!” Makoto hissed, and stalked over into Yusuke’s way. “You’re just giving up? How cowardly are you?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Acquiescence to wisdom is hardly cowardice. My own history with our crusade makes me uncomfortable to depart upon another. I would not suffer the fate of Sisamnes if it were to be avoidable.”

“What about Shido! You’re willing to risk Japan’s fate? The world’s, if that god is here?”

“You are more than willing to go try and stop them if you wish. But so many of our judgments were vanity, so much of what we did ill-thought. And retroactive grief will not prevent us from making decisions such as those again. I refuse to partake in such a system.”

Makoto was silent for the moment, watching Yusuke with disdain. Haru hovered nearby, having gone silent recently. Yusuke felt for her—the girl had always hated any conflicts between members of the Thieves. This must have hurt her tremendously.

Though it couldn’t have hurt more than when Makoto balled her fist and slammed it into Yusuke’s midsection. He fell to a knee, groaning in pain. Vaguely, he was aware of Haru calling out at Makoto in shock. After a second, Yusuke managed to blink away the pain, just in time to hear Makoto. “You’re pathetic, you know that? Only got knocked down once and you’re already giving up.” He groaned in response, staggering slightly forward. 

A shout came from down the underpass, and above him, Yusuke could hear Haru urging Makoto to leave. She said something else to Yusuke next—probably an apology, knowing Haru. He grunted in response. Whatever she had actually said, he hoped she didn’t place blame upon herself for this.

Hopefully, neither would Makoto when this was done. He had thought that way once before.

It took a moment for Yusuke to stand back up. Makoto had always packed a mean punch, as he remembered. Normally he had been lucky enough to be on the opposite side of the blows. Regardless, by the time he had managed to stand, the man who had spoken was standing next to him, looking down at the opened bag. The man was scratching at his chin, sleeves of his grey overcoat pushed up to his elbows. “Don’t know what your whole tussle was about, kid,” the man said. His voice was decidedly gravelly. “That said, if you were thinking of hitting up heaven, you should forget it. Cops in this neighborhood don’t take kindly to this sort of stuff.”

“Heaven? To what on earth are you referring?”

The man turned, yellow headphones around his neck flopping about. “Graffiti, kid. ‘M talking about graffiti. You a new writer?”

“Writer? I’m an artist.”  _ Though I suppose writing is as much an art as any other medium. _

The man sighed and zipped the bag back up. “Yeah, a new writer then. Look kid, take this stuff and go home.”

“I wish that were possible,” Yusuke muttered.

The man pinched the bridge of his nose. “You—fine then. At least get out of this place . . . if you want, I have a shop nearby. You can stay there, at least for a little while while you figure things out.”

Yusuke nodded and grabbed his back. This, at least, would be better than anything else. Hefting the bag, he followed along.

***

“We will need your guardian to fill these out for tomorrow morning,” Principal Kobayakawa said as he shoved a handful of papers into Akira’s hands. She took them without thought. “Since we were able to get in contact with your guardian, today won’t go against you.”

“Did he say anything about whether the person in the hospital was alright?” Akira asked. Ever since Sojiro had driven away earlier, it was the only thing which she could think of. Even as she had been given a small tour of the school, her thoughts had been razor-focused, and not on what she was seeing. Even though she could only vaguely recall her non-Thief related times at Shujin, she couldn’t bring herself to care. Not when Futaba was injured. 

_ How did she even get injured? I figured there wouldn’t be much to hurt herself in her room. Maybe she fell down the stairs in Sojiro’s house? Even if she remembers, wouldn’t her heart still be distorted? _

The Principal frowned at her, as though confused why she would ask. “No, he did not. Now, to reiterate from earlier, you will immediately be expelled if you cause any problems. In my opinion, you’re nothing but a liability, but we had our circumstances to consider. Whatever you might’ve gotten away with in your hometown . . . those days are over. If you are thrown out from our school, there will be no place for you to go. Keep that in mind.”

“I understand,” Akira said, keeping her attention firmly on the Principle.  _ But she did try to contact me, so maybe Futaba tried to do something else that would have gotten herself hurt.  _

“This is your homeroom teacher,” the man continued, though Akira kept her focus on him as he spoke.

“I’m Kawakami Sadayo.” There was an edge under the flat of her voice. The exhaustion Akira remembered being present her first time through could still be heard as well. “Here’s your ID.” Akira glanced over to where the document had been placed on the table. Akira picked it up, gave it a glare, and stashed it in her back pocket. It seemed that the flyer she vaguely remembered seeing last time was absent. “Make sure to go over the rules. Violations of them would be against your best interests—my understanding from Principal Kobayakawa is that I’m to not try to protect you.”

“That’s correct.” To Akira, he said. “You are the only one responsible for your actions.” Silence followed where originally the conversation had dawdled on for a while. Quickly, Principal Kobayakawa filled the silence again. “Now then, you should be on your way.”

“Alright,” Akira muttered, fiddling with the papers in her hand. “I’ll be here tomorrow then.”

“Do you know your way back?”  _ Damn it,  _ Akira winced.  _ So close to getting out of here!  _ “This is only your second day in the city, right?”

“I can at least make sure you get to the station, it can be a bit tough to find if you don’t know where to look. I imagine Sakura-san didn’t exactly point it out to you.”

“. . . Alright. I suppose it couldn’t hurt.”

“Wonderful,” Akira heard Kobayakawa say in mock cheer.  _ God, he really is just two-faced scum, isn’t he? Unless he genuinely is that happy to see me gone.  _

_ Wait . . . he was part of Shido’s organisation. Did he only have Shujin accept me because of that, to keep an eye on me?  _ She dismissed the thought near as quickly as it came. The thought that she was important enough to Shido to warrant thought was laughable.  _ I guess fate just has a really twisted sense of humor. _

She took leave of his presence without further comment, keeping her head down as she stepped out onto the street. She’d forgotten how grey the sky was on this day. The rain clouds which would unleash themselves hung ready overhead.  _ Tomorrow . . . the day that everything changes.  _ A strange part of her couldn’t help but feel excited for the prospect. For now; though, she just had to finish getting through the day. Behind her, she could hear footsteps approaching.

A part of Akira wanted to just walk away as quickly as possible, but she forced herself to remain. Across the road, a pair of boys were chattering amongst themselves, and she focused on their conversation. Excitement and concern for something in Rio in a few months. A moment later, it came clear to Akira that they were discussing the Olympics. When one of them expressed eagerness for the 2020 Olympics being hosted in Japan, Akira had to stifle a laugh.

“Something funny?”

“N-not much. Just . . . Olympics.” She cringed at her own words.  _ God, could you have please said something that wasn’t completely stupid. _

“Olympics, hm?” A pause, and then a sigh. “You remember too, then, don’t you?”

_ No, no please no,  _ she thought, heart seizing up. Her hand fluttered at her side, before she clenched it and took a deep breath.  _ Time to rip the bandage off, I suppose. _

“It checks out that it would be a reference to Covid that gave me away.” She chuckled at the notion. “We should probably move away a bit. I don’t think it would be best should we be overheard by anyone at Shujin.” Without waiting she walked down the road, far enough down the block to not be seen from the school. Judging by the sound of footsteps, she was followed.

It didn’t take long for their conversation to resume. “Actually, it was rather the fact that you refused to look me in the eye during the entire meeting. Covid was just the nail in the coffin for any deniability. Now, why are we back? Was it something you did?”

“No,” Akira said hastily, ducking her head low. “Whatever else, know that I would never have brought us back. Remember Jaldabaoth—that god-thing which appeared that Christmas? He brought everyone here. Wants to create a team of Thieves most ill suited to fight him.”

“And so it chose you.”

“. . . Yeah. O-on the off-chance, when did we meet? Later in life, that is? Everyone is apparently coming from different realities—I want to make sure we’re on the same page.”

“Fair. It was 2026—a group of teachers were trying to get more freedom in what they taught—allow more focus on critical thinking practices. The LDP was strongly against it. Representative Yoshida was interested; though, so he sent you.”

“Yeah,” Akira murmured, nostalgia creeping through. “The night before you came back, did we fight?”

“Mhmm.”

“Then yeah, I think we’re from the same universe. Or at least, one where the differences between ours are negligible. I’m so sorry. Had I never said anything, if I was stronger, maybe we—”

“Akira, breathe.” She did as she was bid, forcing her hand to stretch out. Her bones hurt. “Can you look at me? Please?” And so Akira did. And god, it may have only been a day of absence, but she had missed that face.

Akira had forgotten just how exhausted Sadayo looked at this point, concealer barely hiding the bags under her eyes, skin unhealthily pale. And yet, there was a drive in her eyes, steel determination hidden underneath of warmth. The same story was told throughout her being, exhaustion and pain endured—endured with far greater strength than Akira had found within herself. Or perhaps that was merely the mask she wore.

“She didn’t come through with you, did she?” Sadayo asked. Akira shook her head. Once more, tears threatened to break free of her, and she forced them back. Maybe one day the thought wouldn’t bring forth tears. She hoped that would never be the case. “I . . . I guess I should have expected that to be the case. Do you think that she’s all alone there? Or are we only copies pasted into a new world, and they’re all still back in our’s, safe and sound?”

Akira frowned and hugged her arms together. “I don’t know. If I’m honest, I didn’t want to think about it. But I’ve talked with my . . . supernatural contacts. They’re looking into finding a way for us to get home. If there’s any way we can . . .”

“Thank you.” Sadayo let out a long, heavy breath. “It doesn’t yet feel real. It feels numb, not saddening. I suppose it’s because there’s no body, no mourning. I feel like there should have been a death, and yet I can’t bring myself to feel that.”

Akira nodded. The admission of such thoughts filled her with ashamed relief. “I’ve felt the same. I don’t have my phone on me now. But once I get it, we can find a place in the Metaverse—in that other world—to talk. I don’t imagine we’ll have many chances for honest conversations beyond that. And . . . maybe we’ll have a chance to mourn there. As a family.” Next to her, Sadayo nodded, faintly shuddering as she did so.

“Thank you. There’s a lot to talk about, but I should be getting back. Oh—one other thing—from the thirteen to the fifteenth, there’s a teacher’s conference. The last time, Chouno went. I’ve pulled as many strings as I could. Kamoshida will be going this time instead.” Akira smiled at that.  _ Of course you’d think of that, already on the move. God you’re wonderful.  _

“If possible, could you have the card ready when he gets back?”

Akira briefly frowned, thinking.  _ In theory we certainly could . . . Kamoshida’s palace was one of the easiest, and we should be going in at full strength. In theory.  _ “We can try, at least.”

“Thank you,” Sadayo said, letting out a tiny smile. “I guess for now, I’ll be seeing you tomorrow, Kurusu-chan.” Within herself, warmth arose instinctively, and Akira unfolded her 

“Kurusu-chan,” Akira said, giving a hint of a smirk. Just a tad of Joker. “Been a long time since you called me that.”

“Figured I should get back in the habit. I’m just sorry that I won’t be able to use the right honorifics in public.”

Akira shrugged. “I’ll survive. I have so far.”

“If you’re sure. See you then, Akira.” With that, Sadayo gave her a short nod, polite enough for public sight, and turned to walk back towards Shujin. Akira watched her wife leave for a short while, feeling so much of the stress she had carried drained out her feet. Sorrow remained, true, but not lonesome sorrow. 

_ Time to go home,  _ she decided. With a breathless laugh, Kawakami Akira stretched her legs out and began her walk to the station.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: mild violence, mentions of violence and death. Brief existential wonderings. Covid-19 gets an offhand mention.
> 
> Discussion of events in the chapter below, so full warning for spoilers:
> 
> When initially developing the premise for this story, I figured that the relationship dynamic presented in this chapter would be the most controversial aspect of this story, and for entirely fair reasons. As such, I figured I would give a brief explanation of my thoughts as to this.  
> To begin with, I would like to just say that the relationship between Kawakami and Joker, as presented in canon, is unhealthy (and I'm really not a fan of it). I don't think I necessarily have to go into detail as to the reasons why, and while I don't believe that it is inherently wrong to portray unhealthy relationships, just as it isn't inherently wrong to write about topics such as murder, robbery, etc., I did want to try and portray a healthy relationship between the two. This is the primary reason why I took the time to establish the timeline of events in their relationship fairly early on and brought it up a number of times (offhand I believe I mentioned around ~3 times that Akira only entered a relationship in her mid-20s before this chapter). Outside of these specific references I tried to imply the relationship a number of other times (e.g. Akira no longer going by the family name Kurusu but still having a family name ending in K, it being mentioned Akira met her partner during her year in Tokyo, and in particular her dread of Sunday, i.e. the day she would meet Sadayo).   
> As for the reason why I wanted to display this relationship, I like Kawakami as a character, in particular her empathy and drive to help others, her struggles with guilt and self-loathing, and also her resoluteness (it can be argued that she displays a lack of resolve in her social link, but I prefer the interpretation that the pain from her guilt warped that resolve into an obsessive penance, hence why in other ways she appears to have no backbone). I found that these characteristics gave her a strong set of tendencies as a foil to Akira as written here, which naturally meant that their relationship needed to be a stronger one than others, to which a romantic dynamic offered what I felt was the most room to explore their character arcs. Additionally, out of all the possible relationships Akira could be in during the canon timeline, this one would obviously pose the most difficulties in terms of the logistics of their interactions but also others, granting them a lot of potential room in the future of this fic. 
> 
> So yeah, I hope that that wall of text adequately summarises my thought process fairly well, though to be entirely honest I completely understand if for anyone this makes them somewhat wary, as I would likely be in this context.


	8. Back in the saddle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings can be found in the end of chapter notes.

Out of all the things Akira could have found upon arriving at Leblanc, the one she figured most likely was for it to be empty, and for her to have to wait outside until Sojiro came back. The latter was certainly true. But what she hadn't expected was to turn the corner and see Akechi Goro sitting on the side of the road, downcast, with some other person sitting beside him inspecting a guitar. For a moment, Akira's instincts told her to turn around and walk back down the streets. Only for a moment though. The fact that people were returning was undeniable now. Maybe Akechi would be one of those people. Anything to make her life harder.

She blinked as she approached the duo. Akechi wore the same uniform he had always worn before, but the beige overcoat was unbuttoned and crumpled, the black-and-white tie undone, twin strands trailing along his button up. His hair was ragged, strands askew and dusty.

God, he looked awful.

The other figure seemed more disgraced than Akechi, though with a haggard overcoat and half-grown beard, their state was less surprising. Either way, the two made a ragged pair.

"You know, I think that the café needs to be open for you to visit," she said as she approached them. Akechi looked up at her as she spoke, his eyes red. "Damn. You look like shit. What happened to you?"

"The train," Akechi said, as though that explained anything. His voice was ragged.

"What do you mean, 'the train'?"

"Today, Shido had an engine driver subject to a mental shutdown. The point was to oust the current administration of the Department of Transportation. In my universe, dozens of people were injured, but no one died. Today, though, over a dozen have died already. And . . . Sakura—Futaba was on the train. She's in the hospital right now, we left after Sakura-san arrived."

"What?" Akira asked. She must have heard them wrong. The things Akechi had said sounded hollow, the words distant. She had to have—

"At the very least, she has a concussion, probably grade two, and what's probably a femur fracture. But she's stable, thank god."

"But why—why was she out there? W-want, you came back too?!"

Akechi let out a breathless laugh. "I did yes. As did Futaba. As for why she was out there—I'd lost my phone the day before and she was helping me get another one set up."

For a moment, she wanted to call him on his bluff.  _ He's lied to you before, tried to kill you before. You might have thrown  _ a  _ phone away, but how do you know that was his only one. He could have easily performed the hit, convinced Futaba to get on the train, and then . . . then what? _

"I'm glad you're here, though. I was hoping to get your help with something." 

Akira crossed her arms and leaned back against the café's outer wall, staring down at the crouched hitman. "And that thing is?"

"What happened to the engine driver, it was more intense than either a psychotic breakdown or a mental shutdown. I don't have any frame of reference for what it might be, but it might have left the Shadow alive. I want us to find the man's Shadow and try to figure out what happened to it."

_ Oh, so that's his plan. Take me into Mementos and kill me down there. Though he's being rather unsubtle about the whole—wait, who . . . _

"Who's that next to you?" Akira asked. Akechi jabbed the stranger in the shoulder, and they looked up at her. After a moment, she recognised them as the customer from yesterday. Not that it explained anything.

"Hi, ma'am, the name's Morgan," he said with a shaky smile. His eyes betrayed how rattled he seemed more easily.

"Ma'am?" she asked, an eyebrow raised. Akechi's hands jumped up in a defensive manner.

"Futaba accidentally said some things I inferred from. As for him, I made sure he wasn't transphobic before I told him. Anyways, he's Morgana."

"I keep telling you, my name's Morgan, without the extra a," the stranger said at the same time Akira said, "Bullshit, Morgana was a cat."

"Okay, okay, hear me out," Akechi said. "Your name is Morgan, which is only one letter off. You currently live in . . ."

"The Metaverse," the man said, clearly puzzled.

"And you are trying to get to the bottom of . . ."

"Mementos."

"And you're doing that because you don't have any . . ."

"Memories."

"And you do that with the help of a . . ."

"Persona."

"If that wasn't enough, hey Morgan, remember the photo I showed you? The girl, what do you think of her?"

"Oh, Lady Ann," the stranger—no, Morgan—said, a shimmer of excitement piercing through exhaustion, confusion, and nerves. "She seems really nice, but I still don't get why you showed it to me."

"He started calling her that without  _ any  _ input on my end."

"Oh god," Akira groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose. "He is Morgana." She let out a loud groan.

"Hey, what's with that?!" Morgan cried out.

"Let's see, I've suddenly found myself decades in the past, I miss my daughter, the closest person I have to a sister is in the hospital, and now I learn that my cat is now a wannabe Hozier."

"Wait, wait," Morgan said to Akechi, leaning back as he did so. "I thought you said that I was your boyfriend's cat."

Akira quietly screamed into the palm of her hand. At the same time, Akechi let out a long, lingering sigh.

"We're all from different universes, remember? In  _ mine _ , you're my boyfriend's cat, but Akira here obviously is not the same Akira as I know."

"Exactly," Akira said. "For instance, I have much better taste than your Akira does."

That got Akechi to stand. "Don't you dare insult him," he hissed, face pulled into a snarl. "I'm not going to insult you for what happened in a world I wasn't privy to—is it too much to reciprocate that?"

"I'm just saying, after what I've seen you pull, after things that it seems happened in your world as well, it would take a very  _ masochistic _ mind to spend time with you."

"Why you utter—"

"Um, y'all?" Morgan's voice cut between them, and they both looked at him where he sat on the curb. "I get that there's some bad blood and all, but . . . we still need to find out what happened to the driver, right? Can we just put this all aside until then?"

Akira glanced between him and Akechi.  _ If he does try anything now, at least I'll have Morgana with me . . . and if he is right, and something is different, then I need to know. _

"Yeah," Akira said. "I'll be fine."

***

They went right into the Metaverse after swinging by Shibuya's central street to pick up some items, mostly some basic first aid supplies and a knife and airsoft gun for Akira. She kept Morgan between them as the group went on, first to Morgan's current refuge so he could grab his own gear, and then towards Mementos. He couldn't blame her for that, as much as he wanted to.

The way he had growled at her, after she had insulted his Akira, haunted him. She was justified, he knew, if her interactions with him were anything like those which had happened in his own universe. He hadn't been a good person, far from it, justifying every single action as caused by a pain no one else could understand without the understanding of what others faced. The added decade of stress within the foster system certainly hadn't helped, creating a perfect cocktail of pain, hate, and self-loathing which had taken years to unpack and tackle.

And now he was back in the catalyst which had brought about that nightmarish reaction. He hoped that he could find a way home soon, even with the lack of any leads whatsoever. He had only been here for one day and he'd already snapped at his best friend.

God, he missed his Akira. Goro missed him so much.

He started paying attention again as they arrived at the domicile Morgana had taken to living in, one right across the street from the entrance to Mementos the Thieves had always used. The man had a fair amount of gear himself, grabbing a handful of lockpicks and food, a slingshot, and a straight sword, blade easily fifty centimeters along, with a single cutting edge. He strapped it to his waist and nodded to them. Akira took the opportunity to fiddle with the model gun she'd purchased, a decent replica of a STI 2011 Combat Master. One of Shido's more mundane cleaners had carried one (though Goro figured he would keep that little tidbit to himself), and judging from half-remembered sights of the item, Goro could safely say he was unable to tell the difference. Props to the Thieves arms dealer, he supposed, even if the man had seemed terribly pre-occupied, glancing every so often towards the back of the shop. Either way, she had gotten kitted out, and her eyes held a steely determination. Even if working together would be awkward, Goro hadn't any concerns that she could hold her own.

As for himself, Goro had clipped his laser broadsword to his belt loop, and had pulled his own actual handgun, emptying the clip and leaving the bullets with Morgan's stash for safekeeping. That, as well as both the fact that it could prove as a show of good faith, and because he really didn't want to use that old ray gun model again. He also grabbed the single Goho-M he’d crafted the night he got back and stuffed it into his pant’s pocket. 

He frowned as he stretched out, finding the blazer constraining. Apparently wearing polo shirts for work every day for years had left him unaccustomed to anything more heavy, but either way he tugged the blazer off and tied it around his waist. The sleeves of his button up were rolled up for similar reasons.  _ It would probably be a good idea to get rid of the tie too,  _ he decided z and quickly excised it.

He caught Akira staring at him as he did so. "What is it?" he asked her, putting in only enough effort to keep his voice neutral. 

"Nothing, it's just strange to see you dress down."

"Well don't get too surprised," he said as he pulled out a hair tie and grabbed at errant brown strands. This earned a chuckle out of the girl, and so Goro chalked it down as a win.

Once Morgan had been properly kitted out, the trio descended into Mementos. Goro had forgotten about the place's cold, how it bit through clothes and skin toward one's very being. He shouldered on through it—over his years Goro had experienced far worse. Beside him, Morgan's outfit reshaped itself as they crossed the threshold. The effect was subtle, likely a result of his origins as a Metaverse creation. All that truly changed was that the colours of his clothes became more vibrant, the coat seemed to flow further, his sneakers transformed into boots, and his scarf came to rest above his nose, repurposed into a mask covering the lower half of his face. Akira likewise took a moment to glance at the outfit before they moved on.

"The man's Shadow wasn't too far from here," Goro said. "Morgan can find the specific place he's at as we get closer. Assuming, that is, that you have your old navigational skills."

The man shrugged. "I can find specific Shadows if I get close enough to them, if that's what you're asking. I just need a name." Goro rattled it off, Morgan confirmed their directions, and the group set off.

They were quiet for the beginning of their journey, taking pains to keep to the shallows of Mementos as they journeyed onward, and always keeping away from any Shadows. Thankfully the one time they'd crossed one, Akira and Goro had managed to destriy it with gunshots before it could act.

Eventually, though, Goro spoke. "Akira?"

"You can call me Kurusu," she said, and he winced.

"Fair enough, Kurusu-chan. I was just wondering, what, in your universe, was the deal between you and I. I know it can't have been positive, but—"

"You tried to kill me twice," she answered, keeping her focus ahead of them on the tracks. "And then you died in a boiler room."

He sighed. "I should have figured. I think I understand your ambivalence more now. I died before we had the chance to get to know one another." She looked at him curiously, and he continued. "In my world, we faced another palace together after that, where, for a fair portion of it, we only had each other to rely upon."

"So what?" she asked at the same time that the group began descending one of the escalators. "You're saying that the angry twerp calling me 'attic trash' was a front as well?"

"I'm saying that I had many conflicting emotions about you, ones which I hadn't the experience necessary to properly catalog. Telling myself that it was hate I felt was the easiest way to process them, even though it was a lie. It was only after Shido's palace that I forced myself to further contemplate them."

She hummed in response, her face pensive. He wanted to say something else to her, to reach out, but all words he could think of died as they reached his lips.

"There we are," Morgan's voice cut through his thoughts. "The train there," he said, pointing to a subway car pulled up to a nearby quay. "The Shadow is on it. It's not moving, or doing any . . . I can't tell if it's doing something or not," he revised his statement, crouching down and scratching at his chin. Goro noticed for the first time that his glove had transformed into an artificial set of claws extending from his fingers. Goro flinched at the notion of them being introduced to someone's face. "Something is definitely off about them, though."

"Then let's find out," Goro said, surging forward, only to find a warm, soft hand grabbing onto his forearm. He turned around to find it belonged to Akira.

"Do we have any guarantees that the train won't take off as soon as we're on it?" she asked.

"I mean, as long as no one uses the controls, it shouldn't," Morgan said. "I can't think of any other ways it'd start moving."

Goro nodded. "Either way, we should be cautious. This was where he had been my time around too, but lacking information about who did this . . ."

"We'll make do," Akira said, voice brokering no argument. 

"I suppose we will," Goro murmured, and with that the group made their way over.

The train cars looked completely ordinary, but seeing the wreckage of one that morning put Goro on edge. Morgan seemed jittery too, judging by the way his hand patted his leg to calm himself. Only Akira seemed unaffected, eyes focused forward as she climbed the quay and forced the doors open. 

Or mayhaps she was focused on something entirely different. Goro noticed that one of her hands, after all, kept itself upon her pistol at all times.

They entered the car swiftly, and only then did they notice the noise. Down several cars, contained within the cognitive boundaries of the train, something was crying out in pain.  _ Howling, _ more like. He and Akira shared a look and then, drawing their pistols, moved forward. 

For three cars they advanced, and with each the shrieks and moans grew louder, piercing into Goro's ears and setting his hairs alight. There was something  _ animal  _ to the cries, something that said that the screamer cared not if anyone else heard, the hurt was too great. More than that, it continued incessantly, only breaking for whimpers and moans. Beside him, Akira seemed shaken, face pale. Morgan looked like he was near vomiting. 

And then they threw open the door to the next carriage, and only the knowledge that Shadows were not humans kept Goro from crying out himself.

The stench of it all hit him first—surprisingly, for a non-corporeal being, the place was filled with the scent of its decay. The Shadow still looked much like its human self: short, portly, with a receding hairline and thick jowls. He wore the uniform of his position. Unfortunately, that was where the mundane ended. The Shadow was pinned to the ground by a blade, a European-style longsword, with decorative mistletoe carved into the guard. Occasionally it flailed and tried to pull the sword from its form, only to fail. The center of its body was ripped to shreds, torn asunder, strips of flesh and meat pulled as far from the body as they could go before snapping, only to then be pinned by knives. Goro had always figured that Shadows were ultimately just painted-on, that only their exteriors matched the people upon whom they were based. Seeing this now, he knew that wasn't true, as red, gleaming—he forced himself to look away. It didn't help much. The sight would never leave his being.

He saw Akira, eyes wide, approach the driver, only to collapse into one of the seats, hand clasped over her mouth. Morgan was likewise looking the other way, having evacuated to the end of the carriage. Goro couldn't blame him.

"H-he's being . . ." Akira started, and Goro nodded.

"Tortured. I suppose that the state the driver is in, he'll be in until his Shadow heals or expires." He looked up. "Morgana, your persona can heal, right?" The man shook his head. "Really? I thought Zorro could heal people."

Morgan shook his head. "Zorro maybe, but my Persona is La Maupin."

Akira groaned. “Oh, for fuck sake. Akechi, bring the bandages over here, maybe we can stabili—” She broke off as the sound of metal screeching echoed through the train. For a moment they all stood there, uncertain as to what happened, but then Goro looked out the window and saw the quay falling away.

“We’re moving,” he muttered.

“What?!” Akira rose to her feet the moment he spoke, pistol drawn and leveled at his head the moment he spoke. Goro scrambled back in his seat, raising his empty hands into the air. “Who else did you bring into the Metaverse to make this work?”

“What? N-no one.” The Shadow screamed again. Goro wished it would just shut up, at least so he could think of something to say to the woman with the gun. “I didn’t bring anyone here, I’m just as surprised as you.”

“Bullshit. I figured it out: you convince Futaba to get on the train, injure her to put the person best capable of getting us all in communication out of the fight, then you isolate the two of us, kill us, and make up some story about some scary new black mask or something like that. Maybe they believe you, and you can go on killing us. Or maybe you don’t, but you’ve already eliminated two of us.”

“Akira, come on . . .” Morgan pleaded, approaching her.

“No,” Akira growled. “You don’t remember this bastard. You don’t remember how he killed the mother of one of us. The father of another. He joined us only so he could kill me, and when that didn’t work he tried to kill me again.”

Goro sighed and stood, keeping his hands wide and his movements slow. “You have every reason not to trust me, with what you’ve gone through. I don’t blame you for that. But right now, we are on a train car that’s probably heading for the core of Mementos, where an angry god is going to try and kill us. Only one of us has a Persona, and we’re under-equipped. If we don’t get off this train, we die. So let me help you. I may not always be nice, always kind. I might lie to people or hurt them. But you . . . you are the one person I will never do any of the sort to. Call it misplaced loyalty, whatever you’d like. But right now, there are more important things going on.”

His hand twitched towards his right pocket. If only he could get to his Goho-M, then they could leave right now.

“Stop moving,” Akira said, thumb gracing the hammer, not yet pulling it back. “I don’t trust you. If you pull out Loki, you could destroy us in a second.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be too concerned about poor little Crow,” another voice called out in soprano tones, coming from the doorway facing the engine. “His proficiency as a tool is only commensurate to that of his wielder. And right now, he sits in the hand of a paranoid dullard.” In lockstep, the trio twisted around to face this new voice, raising their weapons at the same time. 

Standing in the doorway was a short, slender figure, perhaps coming up to Goro’s nose. They wore a monochrome white coat, hood pulled up, underneath of which was a mishmash of white and red that Goro couldn’t fully follow. On their hands were black gloves, single bars of yellow and red tracing down the glove along their fourth finger.

Most importantly, an onyx mask covered the entirety of their face, featureless save for eyes of a near identical shade.

Goro's hands clenched his pistol a little tighter. "Some new Black Mask, huh? Just had to suggest it." His voice was shakier than he wanted, and instead he focused on the bite of cold metal against his palm.

Before them, the figure bowed. "Pardon my intrusion. I'd only meant to collect my sword and be on my way using this train. But if you've come here now, it would save time . . . you have been judged heretic by our Lord, after all."

"What's your name?" Akira asked, taking a step forward. The hammer had been thumbed back now, Goro noticed. 

"Apologies," the Black Mask began. "But I have no intent to revelate unnecessarily upon you."

"We were hoping we could maybe talk," Akira said. Goro could appreciate the reach. Even if it was obvious, he doubted he'd have done better.

"Pity," the Black Mask said. "I tire of prattle with nithings." And with that they dropped, hand rising to their mask as though to scrape it during their roll. Through the motion, Goro could hear the cry of _Útgarða-Loki_ _!  _ and a collection of shadowy wisps appeared behind them before lancing toward Morgan. The man caught them square in the chest and staggered, sword falling from his hand.

Goro began firing, as did Akira, as their foe danced up, flinging themselves to the side of the car and pushing off a seat, twisting around one of the pillars and sending a foot crashing into Goro's face. Heat and pain blossomed outward and he crashed to the floor, only to watch his attacker tumble overhead and slam into Akira, sending her falling into one of the seats. Her head slammed into the wall with a harsh snap, and Goro's vision went red. 

He leapt to his feet, sword drawn and gun stowed, and charged at their opponent, who had just drawn her sword from the Shadow, its form collapsing inward. He slashed again and again, blows blocked with carefullest motions. Then the Black Mask caught him and twisted him, knocking his feet out from underneath him. Goro slammed down on the steel floor of the car and immediately twisted away from a stab, slashing wildly to gain purchase as he stood.

The Mask tilted their head curiously at him as he stood, raising their sword into a guard. "You've never trained in fencing, have you?" They observed. "Your technique is paltry."

Goro swung in response, tightening his motions, adopting his foes stance. Technique was theirs but strength was his, and he pushed them away from the others. Only for a moment, then they snapped against the foible of his saber and forced it back, opening his shoulder to their steel. 

Goro hurriedly retreated from the pain, hissing as blood oozed down his right arm. The Black Mask conquered the space, twisting their right hand to bring their blade back into the central line. 

The Mask advanced, and Goro swept his sword in frenetic dashes, keeping them apart. God, Goro wished he had a Persona right now. He tried to think of something he could do to gain traction. His mind came up blank.

He retreated again, sword raised yet shaking. They needed something . . .

Then the lights in the car began to flicker, wind howling. The Mask paused, sword lowering, and Goro turned his head.

The first thing he saw was Morgan wandering around, eyes completely glazed over. And then he saw Akira stand up from where she'd collapsed, a hand coming away from the back of her head. Her hand was bloody. She blinked. And then Goro heard the voice.

"It's about time you acknowledged the new reality," a warm, churning voice spoke. "But you don't have to accept it. Your eyes shall be the price for your blindness, but once paid, we shall cut our way from this prison that swallows you. Do you accept?"

"I do," Akira said, voice faint. Bandages wrapped around her head, covering her eyes from the world, ending at the bridge of her nose. She swallowed. A hand reached up and balled linen in her fist. "Vӧlundr."

Then with a cry, she tore the bandages from her face, blood streaming down her face only to be consumed in flame. Goro paid little attention to her own form as a metal construct spun into existence before them.  _ Yes! We have this! _

Then Goro felt a force push against him and he stumbled, catching himself after being shoved. He turned to see the Black Mask pull his gun up in their right hand, shots ringing out toward Akira. He didn't look to her, only charged again to draw their foe's attention.

A wild swing threw them back. With a sigh they threw the gun away. "Time to duel soothfully," they said, and shook out their left hand, in which their sword rested (and more confidently than before, Goro noted). "Come then. Have your resolution."

Goro lunged. They grabbed his sword-wrist with their right hand, drawing him forward.

_ Oh,  _ he thought for a moment as he was pulled past them.  _ I've never fought another left-handed person. _

Then pain erupted through his being, and he forgot all else.

When his vision returned, he staggered forward. His chest was hot and itched heavily. He looked down at it in confusion, and saw a piece of bitter grey steel poking out his shirt. He poked at it, confused as to how it got there. Distantly, he heard a squelching noise, and he watched as it disappeared from his body, only for blood to pour forth. 

It was odd, how the spot was hot, seemingly burning, while the rest of his body was cold.

He heard someone call his name. Maybe scream, he wasn't too sure. He turned on stumbling feet and saw Akira staring at him. He tried to say something, but the words didn't come out.

It was odd he had dreamed of Akira being like this, but who knows he had dreamt stranger. For now though, he was ready to wake up.

Someone in a white coat stepped past him, their hood falling down to reveal auburn hair. They pushed him as they passed. 

His knees were weak, and so he fell. The world was darkening, as though he was falling asleep in a dream.  _ That's a nice thought, _ he decided as he felt himself slump over.

_ I can't wait to wake up now. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: graphic description of torture, graphic violence, mentions of broken bones and concussions. For the worst instances of violence: impalement occurs, a character is implied to have substantial damage occur to their eyes when they remove a mask that is attached to them.
> 
> Starting this chapter, we're getting to see people's Personas; I decided to give each character a new Persona to better reflect their personalities at this point as well as to represent the character arcs they've gone through. All of them have grown to some extent or another since the events of P5, and these changes reflect that. Each time a character gains their Persona, I'll include a short snippet detailing the origins of that character in the end notes. With that in mind:
> 
> La Maupin was a 17th century opera singer who was also known for fencing. She went on the run with a lover following an illegal duel, and her life ended up being the subject (albeit with many changes) of the novel Mademoiselle de Maupin, which was banned by the New York Society for the Suppression of Vice, among others, due to being a celebration of love regardless of form and gender. 
> 
> Útgarða-Loki (anglicised as Utgarda-Loki) is a Jotnar, or frost giant, from Norse mythology, and a master of illusions. He is a separate being from Loki, and is famed for a story in which during a voyage Thor, Loki, and others are set upon and constantly tricked or humiliated by Utgarda-Loki, who uses his illusions to fool them into performing impossible feats under the guise of basic contests. 
> 
> Vӧlundr is a craftsman of Nordic legend and the main character of the Vǫlundarkviða. He marries the swan maiden Hervӧr, and they have a child, Heime. Heime and Hervӧr both eventually part from Vӧlundr’s life, but he chooses to remain at home, crafting a ring for Hervӧr in faith that she would return. Eventually, Vӧlundr was captured by King Níðuðr, who takes the ring to give to his daughter and hobbles the craftsman, stranding him on an island to serve as his own blacksmith. Embittered, Vӧlundr plots his revenge, eventually tricking and killing all of Níðuðr’s family in his escape.
> 
> A few additional behind the scenes notes include that the new Black Mask's fighting style, while fantastical and flashy in terms of their movement, specifically borrows their swordfighting style from historical European fighting styles in an attempt to create a character who feels more antiquated in terms of their fighting, as opposed to relying on long range by default as the Thieves tend to in canon. Likewise, much of their speech is antiquated in terms of the words they use--the two particular instances in this chapter are the verb revalate (to reveal something) and the noun nithings (which refers to a villainous or dastardly individual).
> 
> With that all said, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. Future updates will likely be a bit slower as I work to figure out exactly what sort of schedule I want to work with here, but I can all but guarantee that there will at least be a chapter a week.
> 
> As always, feedback is more than welcome!


	9. Abzu did not diminish their clamor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The duel against the new Black Mask continues. Akira and Goro both see double.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings can be found in the end of chapter notes.

She had woken lying upon the surface of an unceasing plane of water. Overhead was only darkness, and yet she could see. Onto shaky feet she rose, and looked around. There was another figure on the other side of the plane. They too rose, every action mirrored. Eventually, the woman looked down to the figure. The figure looked down to her.

"Do you know your name?" they asked her.

She thought about it for a long moment before answering truthfully. "No," she said. "Do you?" They shook their head. 

"I think that, whatever it is, we share it," they said. 

"Oh," she said. That made perfect sense to her. Nothing else to do, she sat down to be closer to her mirror.

"I think," the mirror began, frowning as they spoke, "I'm supposed to tell you something. Or  _ someone  _ is supposed to. But I'm here, and they aren't. So I don't think I can tell you what they would. So instead I'll just say this: 'I am you, and you are I. But you are not yourself.' Do you understand?"

“Do you mean I haven’t been acting as myself recently?” she asked, tilting her head. Stray black hairs fell into her eyes. “I know I’ve been rather . . . haphazard, as of late.”

“You seem stressed,” they said. “But that isn’t an excuse.”

“It’s just . . . I can’t trust them. I don’t know what they’ll do.”

They nodded. “I understand. But you aren’t taking the time to understand them. Let me ask you, would you expect them to approve of your marriage without the full context of your relationship?”

_ My marriage?  _ The woman frowned, trying to pull tangled, concrete memories to her, only for them to finally erupt forth in a gasp. “N-no, I suppose I wouldn’t. I’d be concerned about it too, if I didn’t know . . .”

The other her smiled in sympathy. “And you don’t know their context. So maybe hold off just a little while. As you’d want others to do.”

She sighed. “I really needed to hear that, huh.”

“It couldn’t have hurt,” they agreed. “Though that doesn’t bring us any closer to our name.”

“No, but for me, it helps,” she said. “I’m married, I'm a woman who never had a chance to be a girl. I'm . . ." She paused, then gasped again. "I'm a mother. And I'm so much more."

The person underneath her nodded. "Of course. No single part of you can subsume the others. Otherwise you would cease to be a person. You'd only be a role." They stood up and stretched. "I can also say that all those are traits I lack. Well, maybe aside from the girl thing. I don't know, I never really considered it."

She squinted at that for a long moment. "You're . . . you're the me whose body I'm living in now."

They smiled. "Sure am. Take care of it."

"Of course. I'll get you off those crates, they were never good for my . . . crates. Right, I lived in a coffee shop's attic when I was a Phantom . . . when I was a Phantom Thief. And after that . . ." It was returning faster now, pieces of herself reattaching with a certainty she hadn't felt before. "My name is Akira."

"There you go," the other self said. "And don't you forget it. Now I should be taking my leave. Take good care of us. And let others in more . . . please."

"I will," she said, and then she watched as her other self slipped beneath the waves. 

Akira woke with a start, head pounding from where it had cracked into the window. Her heart was echoed by her head, constant rhythm from the danger and change. And underneath it all, within and without her, she heard a voice.

"It's about time you acknowledged the new reality," it spoke, strength and warmth filling her veins. Made her safe, in a way she hadn't felt in years. "But you don't have to accept it. Your eyes shall be the price for your blindness, but once paid, we shall cut our way from this prison that swallows you. Do you accept?"

"I do," she whispered, in fervent awe of the strength within her. Fabric wrapped about her face, taut against her eyes. Her new mask.

_ Your eyes shall be the price . . . oh god, this will be awful. _ She balled as much of the fabric as she could, took a deep breath, and pulled with all her might.

The pain was indescribable, as though a spike were driven through her head. Something ripped—she felt her eyes pull apart, and her senses failed her, choosing not to work in the face of her pain.

And then cool, soothing relief washed across her as flesh renewed itself and her Thief outfit formed around her body. It felt lighter than her old one, but beyond that she paid it no heed.

The fabric upon her face impeded her vision, yet despite it she could  _ see _ , see as she had not before. It was near overwhelming, the amount of information available now. Akira blinked it away, and forced herself to focus on the moment.

She had only just adjusted to this new sight when she felt something innately wrong. She turned to see the Black Mask pull Akechi past them, just far enough to sink their blade into his backside. It slid in easily, blood pouring forth at a steady stream.

"Goro!" she shouted, and watched as the Black Mask pushed him away and flicked the blood from their blade. Goro stumbled about, smiled at her, then fell to his knees and crashed face-first to the floor. Akira watched as the life drained from his body too quickly to do anything about, too quickly for her to stop it.

It might have been the second time she was present for the death of Akechi Goro, but it was the first time she watched it happen, watched and saw the moment when a person became a corpse. It hit differently, and with it she roared and raised a hand, letting Völundr's magic pour forth as an inferno that swept towards the Black Mask. It struck dead on and sent them back, hand raised in defense as they weathered the storm.

Akira watched it all happen and looked closer with her new sight, poring through information brought in by the clockwork human she'd summoned.

_ Útgarða-Loki, hmm. Strong but fragile. Weak to fire, uses ice and weird illusions. Against Völundr's fire, they're done, especially if they can't leverage curse against me. _

Ahead of her, the Black Mask righted themselves, dusting off. "Alright then," they said, anger simmering just under the surface of their voice. "Long have I wondered what fighting one like myself would be like."

Akira frowned in confusion. "You mean like fighting a girl?"  _ Why was that your question?  _ a part of her screamed at the rest. 

The answer did seem to stump her for, though, who stood there for a moment before answering, "Among other things. Now, Arsène, demolish her!"

Akira had only enough time to register the name mentioned before she was slammed into by swirling dark energy. She fell to the ground, blinking away stars just in time for a sword to enter her view. With a yelp she darted away. The sword struck right where she'd been, before rising like a net of steel. She backed off, gaining a few steps of space. 

_ Not cool, old buddy, you're supposed to be on my side,  _ she thought with a grimace.  _ And of course she'd also be a Wild Card. Today just can't wait to screw us, can it? _

She stepped back into line with Morgan, who was still gazing off into space. She shook his shoulder as she retreated, and he jumped, eyes blinking their way back to clarity. "What's going on?" he asked as he wheeled about, sword raised in defense.

"Akechi's down," she said. "We need to . . ." she broke off as she saw  _ beneath  _ Morgan's surface, and to his inner self. Saw La Maupin hold herself beneath his surface.

And, most importantly, she saw how La Maupin held winter within her grasp.

_ Thank god I'm the only Navigator here,  _ she thought as she gestured frantically. "Morgan, hit her with ice!"

He nodded, eyes alight, and tore down his scarf, vicious grin underneath. With a cry, ice rushed forth, crackling through the air and slamming into the back half of the car. The snap of air rushed through the space, and shook Akira where she stood. Then, the car quieted, the ice Morgan had created forming a wall between them and the Black Mask. Akira watched the wall for a moment, expecting it to come crashing in at any moment. A second passed, then another, and eventually Akira stepped back and let out a lingering breath. Morgan joined her, letting his sword hand drop, blade's tip striking the floor with a chime.

"Thanks for the breathing room," Akira said. "I think that got her. For a minute, at least."

"Yeah," Morgan muttered. "Shit . . . I think we left that Akechi fellow over on the other side."

"I—" Akira began, then swallowed. "I think she already killed him." Beside her, Morgan paled, stepping back and glancing about.

"Fuck . . . we need to get out of here." He stepped over to the window, glancing out to the darkened tunnel beyond. "I don't think we'd be able to jump down, not without some severe injury. I don't suppose you know another way out of here?"

Akira sighed, patting down her new outfit on the off-chance it had any Goho-M's or the like. Sadly, the inspection came short, but only after finding a bandolier that was empty save for the first aid supplies they'd previously bought, a hip holster she quickly stuffed her pistol into, and a cloak that swept over her shoulders and ended in a hood. No tools, however.

Just as she was about to speak, Akira heard a muffled voice from the other side of the wall. She took hesitant steps to the icy barrier, and pressed her ear to it, ignoring the bite of the chill.

"Well enough," the Black Mask gasped, an echo of pain ringing through her voice. "Orpheus, come forth. Grant unto me respite and swiftness."

_ Oh for fuck’s sake . . . _

A moment later, the sound of a gunshot echoed through the train car, crashing against Akira's senses with a pounding.

"The hell was that?!" Morgan shouted, looking about without abandon.

"Don't know," Akira responded, darting away from the wall as she spoke. "Maybe she's trying to shoot through the wall?"

"Should I reinforce it then?"

"No, wait until we're sure. Wasting your energy now would be a death sentence." Morgan swallowed and nodded, sword rising again into a defensive stance. Beside him, Akira drew her knife in one hand and her pistol in the other. 

There was a loud thumping noise, coming from somewhere around them. Akira jerked her head about, looking for any sign of cause. None presented themselves, and she returned her focus to the wall of ice. Should it fracture, she needed to see it before the Black Mask came bursting through.

She shifted her grip on her knife. They would get through this. They  _ had  _ to.

Unless Jaldabaoth's plan had already worked, and the three of them had walked into their graves.

There was a flicker, a shadow with a sliver of light deep inside itself, that danced across the edge of Akira's vision. She turned to look upon it, and it surged downward, pirouetting in its fall.

The window to her right burst inward, shards spraying across the car. Akira ducked inward to hide herself, but as she did so a figure fell into the car from its roof. The Black Mask slid behind Morgan, kicking out an ankle and grabbing him from behind.

Akira rose, gun pointed to their foe when Morgan was brought between them both, hands forced to his side. Specifically, forced far from where they could reach his mask. "Tsk, tsk," the Black Mask said, pulling Morgan about to remain between herself and the gun. "No Personas for you. Fitting, that without them you are found wanting. Little more than children playing at war."

Before Akira could determine what to do, Morgan snapped a hand to his captor's, clawed glove piercing flesh. She hissed in pain, drawing back. It was enough for him to ram an elbow into her stomach, forcing her back. Another swipe cut her scabbard loose, and he threw it to Akira.

She caught the sword with a sense of palpable relief and, as soon as it was in her grasp, turned to the broken window and threw it. The blade tumbled into the darkness with a clattering noise.

Akira grinned at the noise.  _ At least that's dealt with, all that's left is to—  _ her thoughts ceased as she heard a groan. Turning, she saw the Black Mask grab Morgan's wrist before kicking off one of the train's seats into a sideflip. A loud cracking noise broke through the car, and Morgan fell to one knee, crying out as she then struck his neck twice, then his face, before kicking him to the ground.

He didn't get up again, whimpering where he lay.

Akira pulled her attention from him to see her for, who was now pacing side to side, taking a brief moment to adjust her auburn ponytail. Akira was tempted to use the moment to take a shot, before seeing that her foe's current Persona was immune to anything she could throw outside a punch or a stab.  _ Damn Wild Card abilities . . . _

"What are you?" Akira eventually settled on asking, taking the moment to stow her pistol. "Some sort of acrobat from hell?"

The girl answered by bringing a hand to her pocket and drawing forth a dagger of her own. "I am the one who you see if God does not intend for His mercy to reach you. I am His sword."

Akira said nothing, instead immediately throwing her dagger at her foe. As she expected, the Black Mask chose to dodge, taking her eyes for an instant off Akira.

And in that moment, Akira charged in a simple tackle.

It had been a simple enough idea—her foe clearly had the advantage in speed, strength, and agility. The few places she maybe lacked were in size and bulk.

As Akira grabbed the Black Mask around the waist and pulled her cleanly into the air, rushing forward still until they crashed into a pole, she knew she made the right choice. 

They both stumbled, Akira's shoulder ringing and her world shifting from the sudden stop. Beside her, the girl was on her hands and knees, breathing heavily and trying to pull herself up. A hand was on her back where she'd collided with the pole.

It took the Black Mask a few seconds to stand. It took Akira a fraction less, and she grabbed the girl's coat and pulled her round, throwing her into the seats. The girl crashed against the window, stumbling before kicking back up, slashing with her knife frantically. Akira jumped back, waiting for a moment to close the distance.

She never got that moment, as then the knife was thrown with unerring precision. Akira caught it, metal stinging against her fingers.  _ Holy shit. I thought I'd lost that skill. _

As Akira caught the knife, though, the girl advanced. A kick caught Akira in the solar plexus, driving out the wind in her lungs and reducing her world to a thin point of red pain that burned at her insides. Hands seized her cloak and her legs were kicked out, forcing Akira to follow as she was thrown down to the ground.

She rolled back, rising in time to see Arsène, and then more black magic crashed into her, leaving her cold. For an instant, she felt nothing but the chill of the air, only for the air to be driven away and pain return as her back slammed into the wall of ice. Tears stung at her eyelids, copper lay against her tongue. Her limbs refused to respond, letting her lie there as to a cut marionette.

Distantly, she heard someone cursing. Akira raised her head to see Morgan trying to rise, still clutching his twisted hand. As the Black Mask walked past she kicked his head into the seats, sending him crumpled to the ground. 

Akira pushed against the wall to rise, legs slowly coming to, when her old Persona again took shape against her. Though expected, it hurt no less as she was sent tumbling through the ice, chunks sent crashing to the ground alongside her.

Above, the girl had picked up Morgan's blade, passing it between hands as though inspecting a new pair of socks.

"I'd expected more from the woman I was told to fear," the Black Mask said, twisting the sword around. "In the end, though, you are as mortal as any other." Akira blinked, wishing her limbs would respond, to no avail. "I pity only that you will no longer know the joy of the sun's rays, nor the breeze."

And with that, the Black Mask brought the sword down upon Akira's head.

***

The first thing the man knew was that he was drowning. Alertness seized him, and he pushed upward, breaking the water’s surface and dragging in heavy, greedy gulps of air. Once his desire was satiated, he looked about.

There was no light where he was, but nonetheless he could see that the still water stretched on past the horizon, unbroken by any features. The place smelled of aloe and reeds. Above him, two birds wheeled about, silent. He watched as they made a lazy arc in the dark, nearly impossible to see due to their own black plumage. He frowned. With their colouration, he shouldn’t have been able to see them at all.  _ Maybe there’s a source of light after all? _

He took a step in the water, and found it parted easily enough, though his movements left no ripples. That again earned a frown, and as he bent down, he saw that there was no ground underneath, upon which he walked. Instead, he walked, however poorly, upon the water. 

With curiosity, he brought a hand down to the water, dipping it in. From the water, another hand burst forth, catching his wrist in a black, clawed glove.

The man blinked. Underneath him was a reflection of himself, clad in a suit of black and blue. Furious, bloody eyes glared up at him.

“Do you know our name?” the reflection asked. The man shook his head. “Then you’re just as useless as expected. Getting yourself stabbed on top of that.”

He stepped back, the other self letting go of his wrist, and he patted about his chest. Sure enough, there was a hole between his ribs, both in the front and the back. It had probably pierced through his right lung, but strangely, it did not bleed as of now. “Are we . . . dead? Is this hell?”

“Hell? As if; this is the boundary between the world and the afterlife. As for death, you hang upon its precipice, while I was pushed there two nights ago as your soul entered my body.”

“That’s right,” he said, stumbling in the water as the full weight of his wound hit him. The way his movements made no noise only added to the strangeness. “I was stabbed while fighting . . . I don’t know who.” He looked at his double expectantly.

“I don’t know either,” his double said. Then, hesitantly, they added. “I don’t remember our name either. I just know that I am you, and you are I. But you are not yourself.”

The man nodded. “I suppose it makes sense. Identity is a transitory thing, after all. We are the same person, but with my added decade of . . . that’s right, I came back in time. And I’m missing someone, and I’m afraid of turning against them again.” He paused, facing his younger self. “Pieces are returning now.” And indeed they were, the name Akira coming back to him, his own role in his father’s plans (maybe learning his father’s name would bring him closer to his own?  _ No, that won’t work,  _ he thought instinctively. Hm, then, his family name was not that of his father. A single mother, then, or was he an orphan?) “But what I remember most of all, is that my greatest fear is turning into you.”

Underneath him, his double sneered. “Fitting. My fear was turning into one as spineless and weak as you. It appears my fears were founded in reality.”

“Why should you fear me?” he asked. The faint edges of a name were in his head, spoken by a woman’s sad voice. Yet he couldn’t make it out through the fog.

“Because you would destroy everything I’ve worked for. Your mindless sentimentality would keep us from getting revenge on our father. To get justice for our mother!”

Above, he let out a breath. “Akechi Goro. That’s our name.” He looked down. “I’m sorry that you fear I won’t keep our promise. But I swear to you, I will bring our father to justice. Even if I follow a different method, that bastard will go down.”

“That’s the whole point!” The other Goro shouted, pacing about underfoot. “I have not bloodied my hands for two years only for Shido Masayoshi to be left alive.”

“It will kill you too,” he replied. “Would you not rather live your life?”

“What point would there be? My only goal, my only mission, is to kill that bastard.”

Goro sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I forgot who I was working with here.”  _ Right, can’t find happiness unless actively working towards a goal, chronic depression, severe trust issues . . . this will not be fun.  _ “Look, I am proof that we can get through this. Aren’t you willing to trust that?”

“Turning into you would be the equivalent of suicide,” the other Goro said. “You’re too different, too soft. To become you would mean to cease to be me.”

“Not necessarily. You’re more than your requisite parts. You may change, but you are still yourself. Think of the Ship of Theseus, only more identity focused.”

“Why should it matter? You’ve already stolen my body, this is just the moment before I slip into the void.”

Goro sat down, staring at his other self. The full ramifications had been hovering at the edge of his mind, only now to strike him in full. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “That’s not fair to any of you.” Beneath him, his other self just rolled his eyes. “I’ll do my best to bring you all back,” he said. “I’ll find a way.”

“Don’t waste your time,” his other self said. “I’d rather remain dead than live through your puppetry.”

Goro chuckled ruefully. “Is this what Maruki must have thought I sounded like? Alright, I’ll respect your decision. But each of us should have the chance to decide. I’ll give the others that chance.”

“As though I care.”

“You care. Even if you lie to yourself, you can’t lie to me. I  _ know  _ you care, and I know just how much so.” His other self stared at him, eyes wide, as though caught with his hand in a cookie jar. 

“Whatever,” his other self eventually said, and raised a hand. Above, the twin birds cawed and dove for the water, breaking through. One came to rest on his other’s self’s hand, the other on his shoulder. He took a moment to whisper to them, gently petting up one of the raven’s heads. “The time is coming soon for you to wake up. Let them follow you, thought and mind are always precious things to have.” He chuckled as the birds flew up, through the water once more. Goro stumbled back in surprise before they perched themselves on his shoulders. “Did you know,” his other self continued, “the only written records we have of Norse myths are those written by later Christians, wishing to place the world into their own hierarchy, their own understanding. Odin’s receiving of wisdom became a mirror of the Crucifixion. Loki, a tad mischievous, became a Satanic parody of himself. And we have no way of truly knowing what was told before this. We can only see the distortion now, but not the true figures underneath. I imagine that, undistorted, they paint a far more compelling picture.

“Now go,” he continued, reaching out of the water one last time to firmly grasp Goro’s arm. “Finish the job, and don’t disappoint me. I’ll give you a piece of myself to finish it with.” A warmth flooded Goro’s hand, and an old presence, familiar yet changed, filled his mind. “And don’t fear the past. Mourn for it, maybe. But don’t fear it. It has, after all, already happened, and you can’t change that.”

With a laugh, his other self let go and slipped back under the water. Goro watched him descend until he could see no more. 

Then he woke with a ragged, pitiful gasp, pain searing through from his collapsed lung. There was cold steel underneath of him, but as he blinked it warmed, the pain fading. He felt about, and felt the flesh sewing itself back together.

Ahead of him, there was a crashing sound, and Goro looked up to see Akira fall through a wall of ice, slamming into the ground dazed. Above her stood their foe, Morgan’s blade twitching in their hand. They said something that failed to reach his mind, and raised the blade. Goro looked about for a moment before finding his gun tossed to the side. He grabbed it just as the blade was about to descend, and fired.

The round tore into the Black Mask’s shoulder and sent them reeling. Underneath, Akira’s head darted back to look at him, and Goro forced himself to rise, back into the fight.

In the back of his mind, he felt his other self’s Persona, but there was something different too, something new. He leaned into it, and a voice came forth, bright and deep, beautiful and soothing.

“So, side pierced by Mistilteinn, you’ve decided to claw your way back from Hel itself? The path ahead won’t be easy. Darkness and mistrust scatter your allies, and will continue to. They need a beacon, a guiding light to show what good and beauty mean to this new world. Accept our contract, and let light shine from you to illuminate the world!”

He smirked in that vicious way he had long forgotten. Old rage could be a powerful kindling, if aimed with proper judgment. “Then let’s make it so, shall we, Baldr?”

A Colombina mask graced his face, and Goro chuckled before ripping it off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: graphic description of violence. Description of severe injury to a character's eyes when they remove a mask that is attached to them. Another character has their wrist broken.
> 
> As for the Persona introduced in this chapter:
> 
> Baldr is the Norse god of beauty and light, and was blessed with invulnerability to all threats save for mistletoe. His death, either at the hands of Loki's trickery, or at the hands of a sword called Mistilteinn/Mistletoe, is the event which ultimately triggers Fimbulvetr, a period of three winters without end which precede the end of the world in the form of Ragnarök. Much like other mythological figures, Baldr's own temperament and fate is subject to many interpretations—in some stories Baldr remains slain, in others he is returned to life following Ragnarök, and in others still he is allowed to return from the realm of the dead near immediately. He is also portrayed as saint-like, merely a good person, or sometimes downright villainous.
> 
> Additionally, Goro's mask, the Colombina, draws inspiration from the Columbina archetype in Italian theater, the trickster that serves as the sole intelligent character in the play, who uses her wiles bring together the main protagonist and their love interest by the play's end. Columbina is also the Joker's love interest in some plays.
> 
> The realm of water the characters arrive in is the Abzu, an aquifer in Sumerian mythology that exists between the afterlife, Kur, and the world, Ma. It is said to be the source of all fresh water, and from the gods were created from it. As such, it serves here as a symbol for the transference of life and death.
> 
> As always, I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter, and feedback, critique, etc. is always more than welcome!


	10. Truth, hidden from oneself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings can be found in the end of chapter notes.

Despite everything, part of Akira expected for Akechi to be wearing his Black Mask outfit, though the moment she saw his new one, she realised how foolish the thought had been. Under an open black cassock he wore a white hairshirt and hakama, tied with a red sash. Around his shoulders were patterns of silver thorns, as though piercing down into his flesh, and on the left side of his cassock, a single pink carnation was embroidered. He looked taller in the outfit than he normally did, slimmer. More powerful, confident. A part of her whose priorities were _not_ in the right place could even admit it made him look attractive. Then a figure of shining light appeared behind him, and a bright beam shot forth. It raced overhead, slamming into the Black Mask and sending her to the ground. 

"A word for you, as my replacement," he snarled as he advanced. Even as he spoke, he brought his mask away from his face again, and Baldr danced out, streaming to Akira and then Morgana. The Persona only tapped her before Akira could feel relief flooding her veins, bruises fading and cuts disappearing. "I'm a tough bastard to kill me. So is she. Greater things than you have tried to kill us. None of it stuck."

He turned to look at Akira, and offered a hand. "If you can stand, that would be for the best."

With a grimace, she took the hand, and pulled herself up. "Thanks for the healing."

"No worries. Baldr, attend to Morgan." The figure disappeared into a shower of sparkles, darting towards their fallen compatriot. He frowned and turned to Akira. "What do you think our chances are?"

She sighed—though the healing had been helpful, the awakening had left a lingering tiredness in her bones that the ensuing fight hadn't helped. Her legs were screaming at her, wishing to give out. "Right now? Not good. I'm running on fumes, Morgan keeps getting taken out of the fight before we can even do anything."

". . . and I'll start lagging soon too, thanks to my awakening. We need to get out of here, then."

"Train's moving too fast to jump, and I don't have a Goho-M."

"I do," he said, holding up the item. "Now follow my lead, and throw everything you can at her." With that, Akechi darted forward, pulling off his mask again. A second Persona, a slim red-headed man, formed behind him, throwing fire haphazardly down the car. On the other end, the Black Mask scurried away from the blow, keeping her distance. Before she could advance, Akira called forth Völundr with a harsh scream, throwing bright golden flames of her own down the compartment.

Again and again they struck, not to harm but to impede the Black Mask, until Akechi knelt beside Morgan and drew the Goho-M. Akira closed the gap, drawing into the other two.

It seemed, in that moment, that their foe realised their flight, for she darted forward. "I'll discover you again!" she cried. Noise flashed through Akira's head, too frenetic to be understood, and then Akechi flipped the Black Mask off with one hand and activated their way home in the other.

They found themselves laying on the ground of the entrance to Mementos. For Akira, everything hurt, and she flopped over onto her back. In her mind, the noise finished, and at the end she realised that it was the birth of an arcana. Curious, she closed her eyes, and felt the Magician Arcana align itself to the new Black Mask. 

_Well that's wonderful,_ she thought bitterly. _I can't wait to meet them nine more times._

For a moment, she let the world continue in silence, too tired to think of anything else. Finally, though, Morgan broke the silence. "Anyone get the license plate of that freight train that hit us?"

"Bullet train, more like, considering their speed," Akechi groaned. Akira could hear him sit up, boots scuffing against the floor. "How's your hand, Morgan?"

"Still aches, but a lot better, thanks. I don't think it's broken any more, at least."

"Good news," Akechi said. "Just be sure not to stress it for the next couple of days. I can get you a wrist brace if it would help." Morgan just groaned his assent, and they returned to silence.

Akira sat there in that quiet, simply enjoying the blissful lack of stimuli, before eventually a thought worked its way to the front of her head, and then to her mouth. "You did good there, Akechi-kun. I guess my other self has decent enough taste. Just in the opposite direction as mine."

"By that you mean you're a lesbian?" he sounded hesitant, as though wanting to avoid offense. She could appreciate that.

"Yup. Been with my wife for about eleven years now." She noticed her voice was different as she spoke. She liked it.

"Nice," he said, then paused. "I don't think I could acknowledge a heterosexual Kurusu Akira."

That earned a laugh from her, deep within her being. "Or at the least, not a cishet one."

"Perish the thought," Akira replied with a chuckle, slowly pushing herself up. "So, our new friend. Any ideas who they might be?"

"Not a clue. You?"

She shook her head. "I formed a bond with them though, at the end of the fight. Did my other self ever explain those to you?" After he nodded, she continued. "It was only at the very end, when we were leaving. They're the Magician. Morgana used to have that Arcana."

"A pity they likely don't turn into a cat outside the Metaverse. That'd be an easy way to beat them."

"Hah, as though. Oh, and Akechi-kun?"

"Hmm?"

"I want to apologise for earlier." She turned more fully to face him, close to what she imagined eye to eye contact must look like for him. "While I still think I had reason not to trust you, I shouldn't have gone as far as I had."

He raised his hands in placation. "You had your reasons, as you said. I don't blame you for it."

"Still, _mean culpa._ I can't promise I'll trust you fully now, but I owe you the benefit of the doubt. And so I will give you that fully."

Akechi let out a breath of relief. "Thank you, Kurusu-chan."

"You can call me Akira, if you'd like."

"Then you can call me Goro."

"Sure thing, Goro. Shake on it?" she extended her hand, and he gripped it strongly. As he did so, she could faintly hear Lavenza's speech about power and chains and some other stuff she was too tired to pay attention to. She let it sail past, only noting that this link was not that of Justice, but rather, the Chariot. "Huh," she muttered. "Guess all the Arcana got shuffled. You're the Chariot now rather than Justice."

He hummed. "Wasn't Sakamoto-kun your original Chariot?"

"Yup."

"I feel as though the universe itself has insulted me."

"Hey, Ryuji's a good friend. Just a little excitable is all." Goro shifted a little, the colour of his being morphing in a way that let her know he was frowning.

_God this sight is weird._

In his own corner, Morgan chimed in. "Who's Sakamoto-kun?"

"A . . " Goro began, only for his voice to fade out into uncertainty for a moment as he struggled to find the right word. "Accomplice," he eventually settled on.

"Another member of our vigilante group," Akira added. "You were also a part of it. You're welcome to join again, if you'd like. No pressure if you don't want to, though."

"And miss out on spending time with the people who know my past?! You aren't getting rid of me like that."

Akira grinned. "Looks like the Thieves are coming back together. I'll reach out to the others at Shujin tomorrow and see what they remember. That way we can plan our attack and hit the ground running."

Goro nodded. "I'll do some research on my end, try to figure out if there are any differences between my own world and this one in terms of Shido and his conspiracy. That said, we should probably get out of here. I don't want to learn how quickly that other Black Mask can navigate Mementos."

"Agreed. Just one thing first," Akira said, and raised her hands. With delicate movements, she unwound the bandages that covered her eyes. "I haven't had a good chance to see my outfit. And there are other things that seem different."

"Oh—" she heard Goro say. "I didn't even notice, yeah that's . . . that's very different."

"Well don't just leave it at that," she said, finishing the unwinding of the bandages and tossing them away with a huff. "Actually tell me what—oh. Since when did an awakening come with HRT?"

"Your idealised form of who you see yourself as has already transitioned, I suppose," Goro ventured, shifting uncomfortably as he spoke and keeping his eyes focused squarely on her forehead. She scoffed.

"They're just breasts, Goro, it's not that scandalous. Nice to have though." She whispered that last part to herself, still unsure of what to make of her transformation. A part of her wished she'd had more input in what the form looked like, another was just happy to finally see herself like this. A third, buried part wished she had never seen herself like this, as now she knew her regular body would feel loathsome to her, dysphoria intensifying with the knowledge of what could be.

Still, the outfit wasn't terrible. She wore a sleeveless vest of brown leather overtop a long sleeved mesh shirt. Black leather pants fell snugly over her legs. A tool holster sat over her right hip, connected to the bottom end of her bandolier. A grey cloak sat on her shoulders, and experimentally she pulled the hood up and dropped it again.

"I look like the world's worst raver." She muttered.

"It's definitely a look," Goro admitted. "Though at least you don't need to deal with this shirt—I cannot understate just how uncomfortable this is to wear. And besides, the Thief outfits had a tendency to be rather . . . out there."

"True. I guess I'm just glad I'm not wearing a red-latex catsuit. Oh . . . that second Persona you had, what was their deal?"

"Oh, them," Goro began before tensing. It was barely noticeable, until she saw how his fingers were dancing across his leg while he tried to figure out what to say. "That was Loki. I met the version of myself from this world, when I awoke. He gave me his own Persona before we went our separate ways. Some birds too, but I don't know what to make of them yet."

"Huh. It's a bit odd, I'm used to seeing the goat-horned zebra man."

Goro chuckled, stretching out as he did so. "So am I. I think that this is what Loki was meant to be, before Jaldabaoth got his hands on him. Either way though, we should get going." Next to them, Morgan groaned, rose on shaky legs, and guided them out. They walked through the Metaverse to Leblanc and re-emerged there, exhaustion hitting Akira like a sack of bricks when they re-emerged.

"Oh god," Akira muttered as she saw that the lights in the café were out. "I don't have the key anymore."

"No worries," Goro said as he fished out his phone. "I'll call Futaba-chan's phone, get Sakura-san to come let you in. Oh, by the way," he added, rummaging in his pocket before pulling out a phone and tossing it to her. She turned it over in her hand and found it was her own. "She was bringing it with her, so we'd get the Meta-Nav. After the accident, I took it to get it back to you."

"Thanks," Akira muttered, deciding to ignore the part where Futaba stole her phone. _Though you stole Goro's, so you have no room to complain._

There were a handful of notifications that barraged her as she turned it on.

Getting the Band Back Together 

April 10th, 2016 10:30

_Accordion has added Kurusu Akira to the chat._

_Accordion has renamed Kurusu Akira to Xylophone._

_Accordion has renamed Xylophone to Didgeridoo._

Accordion: There we go

Trumpet: Christ

Accordion: oh boo u. BTW meet u in 30 min?

Trumpet: Sounds good.

April 10th, 2016 15:30

Accordion: I LIVED BJTCB

Accordion: oops lemme try that again

Accordion: ahem

Accordion: I LIVED BITCH

Accordion: docs cleared me to use fone

Accordion: hee hee

Accordion: fone

Accordion: Goro?

Accordion: Gooooorooooooo?

Accordion: Goro Isshiki, where the FUCK are you?

April 10th, 2016 17:45

Didgeridoo: what am I witnessing?

Trumpet: A nightmare.

Trumpet: Oh also, could you let Sakura-san know that Akira is locked out of the café.

Accordion: oh sure thing whoops

Accordion: also hi akira hi goro

Accordion: how's is you doing?

Didgeridoo: "how's is"? Should we be worried about her concussion?

Trumpet: I’m pretty sure this is just how she texts. You learn to ignore it. To answer the question though, not well, though I think it's best if we save it for when the Thieves are all together so we can discuss this. Speaking of, when do you get out of the hospital? How are things?

Accordion: surgery at like 10 tonight to take out bone shards inside leg :/

Accordion: then 1~2 days in hospital

Accordion: then home

Accordion: and like, 1.5 months bed rest which ugggghhhhhhh

Accordion: gunna be so restless

Trumpet: Fair. When you get home we can take you into the Metaverse. Persona/item healing won't remove the injury but I've found it can speed healing.

Akira looked over to Goro, who shrugged. "I once got shot in the real world. Went into the Metaverse and chugged some pepto bismal each night and it healed twice as fast as it should have." She nodded along and glanced down when she heard another ping.

Trumpet: Once you're healed enough I'd also be happy to help with strength training and stuff like that.

Accordion: thanks bunches! ᕙ( : ˘ ∧ ˘ : )ᕗ 

Trumpet: Also, if I may ask, how is Sakura-san handling things.

Accordion: oh right

Accordion: that

Accordion: haha

Accordion: well, let me tell you

***

When Futaba had woken, it had been to pain. For a moment, confusion rocked her being, as she wondered why it was so bright in her room. She blinked a dozen times, letting the light fade as she came to realise that this was not her room. There was the faint beep off a heart rate monitor nearby, and the smell of cleaning fluids.

_A hospital? Why am I in the hospital?_

Her leg hurt like nothing else, and when she looked down she could taste bile. Her leg was wrapped about and restrained, as though . . .

_That's right . . . the train._

Her consciousness fully reasserted itself, and Futaba groaned, reaching up to clutch her head. Now that the fog of sleep had receded, a full migraine had struck. _Jeez, what does a girl need to do to get some acetaminophen over here . . ._

"Futaba!" A warm, concerned voice said, and she looked over to see Uncle Sojiro hovering at her side, eyes wide. That terrible hat of his was sitting on the chair beside him. "Can you hear me?" His voice was too loud, cutting through the air, and Futaba winced.

"A-ah, yeah. Can definitely hear you. Really loudly too."

"Oh, right," he said sheepishly before chuckling lightly and sitting back down. "How are you feeling? Do you need me to get a nurse?"

She shook her head. "It hurts, but I'll be fine."

"Alright then," Sojiro said while he sat down in the chair, tucking the hat into his lap. "If that's the case, then we need to have a discussion." Futaba did her best to avoid openly grimacing at the suggestion. If there was any one thing she hated, it was having to justify herself to others. Futaba knew what she was doing, she had known for years and had proved herself over and over again. And yet she had always found herself questioned, whether for her age, parentage, gender, or her mental health.

Sojiro did have reason to be doubtful, though. Especially knowing what she did about this universe.

For a moment, she was tempted to ask him if he knew where her mother was. The temptation was swiftly demolished. As nice as it would have been to receive a moment's respite from the awful questioning which was sure to follow, it would only serve to make him more wary of her suffering from brain damage. Not to mention how needlessly cruel it would be. So instead she swallowed her pride and nodded, waiting for him to speak. 

"You've been . . . off, since yesterday. I don't know how to explain it, it's almost as though you're a completely different person. And today . . . why were you on that train, Futaba? You had no reason to be there."

She sighed and leaned her head back. "I—" She paused the moment she began to speak, unsure of what to say. What would put him the most at ease while hewing close enough to the truth. _Thank god my other self kept a journal,_ she thought. _I'd hate to have to run through this conversation blind._ Admittedly, though, reading through her old notes, of her mother's death and subsequent depression and delusion weren't anything she ever wanted to broach again. 

Apparently the depression this version of herself had gone through had worsened her schizophrenia, something that she'd only had diagnosed as an adult in her own timeline. She wondered if this version of her had ever gotten a proper diagnosis. _Probably not, knowing her._

Eventually, she found her words and continued. "I've known for a while that how I was coping was wrong. A part of me knew I didn't kill my mother, that I wasn't responsible. It's just . . . confronting that reality was too difficult, and so I retreated into a delusion made by my self-loathing. But over time, I realised I might have been wrong."

"What changed that?" Sojiro asked, leaning forward in his chair.

"I don't remember if I've ever told you, but I, well, sometimes I see or hear things. I figured it's pretty likely I have schizophrenia or something like that. Maybe psychosis. But there was something in what I saw that made me realise I was wrong. And then, I started looking into mom's work, what her life was like, and I found out I had a brother."

Surprise flashed across Sojiro's face, and it seemed he had to resist the urge to jump back. "A brother? Wakaba never told me about—"

"Geez Sojiro, not a full brother, just a half-brother. Same dad and all. Anyways, we started talking, and he helped me realise that, no matter what I did, what mom would really, actually want me to do would be to live my life. 

"Today . . . today I was going to meet him. I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I know I should have. I was just so scared of getting cold feet. To get back in the world, I wanted to dive into the deep end first, and I didn't want to make you nervous with all you're doing."

"Oh Futaba," he said, reaching out and holding her hand. The warmth was appreciated, and as she looked up, she could swear she saw tears in his eyes. She didn't say anything about it, though. He'd probably complain about having an image to maintain or something like that. "I appreciate you thinking of me, but I'm here to support you, alright. I'm so proud of you, though, Futaba. For so long, I'd thought we'd lost you. But you're such a strong girl. You take after your mother like that."

She smiled. "Thanks. And for what it's worth, thank you, for taking care of me. That kept me going. It's only thanks to you I was able to get to this point."

"Oh, I'm just a guy that makes curry. Really, you should thank that detective kid. He's the one that gave you first aid until the paramedics arrived. Watched out for you until I arrived too."

Her eyes widened at the mention, and she shot up, only to wince as pain shot through both her leg and her head. "Ow, ow, but wait, Goro was here?"

"Goro, huh? You know that kid?"

"He's uh . . . he's the brother I mentioned."

Sojiro openly stared. "That kid, the one who's on TV all the time, _that's_ your brother?" She nodded. "Huh." He continued, mumbling under his breath, just loud enough Futaba could barely make it out. He probably intended for her not to hear it. _Jokes on you, old man, I rolled high on my Perception check!_ "But wouldn't that make his father . . . oh. Hoo boy."

In her mind, Futaba snickered. _Hoo boy indeed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: brief description of violence, mention of injuries. Brief references to mental illness. Honestly if the previous chapters were fine then you'll probably be fine for this one.
> 
> Fun fact, in a much earlier plan for this story, there was originally going to be a plot reveal where we would learn Goro's mother in this universe was still alive but in a coma, and Goro had been working for Shido to pay for her medical care while still trying to find a way out from under his thumb. Originally there was going to be a hint to this reveal during Futaba's section, but it was cut, along with the plotline, because it ultimately didn't add enough to the story to justify its existence. Still, it would have started here.
> 
> Also, with regards to Futaba referencing a diagnosis as schizophrenic, my own personal headcanon is that she is--I have a few people very close to me who are diagnosed with it and I see a lot in Futaba that mirrors my experiences with them. Additionally, I am so tired of ass-backwards portrayals and stigmatization of mental illnesses, and even if it's just in a small, self-indulgent fanfiction, I'm gonna push back against that stuff.
> 
> As always, I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter, feedback/critique/etc. is always appreciated!


	11. Infinite purgatory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second Black Mask talks to their manager.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings can be found in the end of chapter notes.

God’s haven was a cold place, meant for reflection. Sequestered deep within humanity’s heart, the jet black walls and dim red lighting verged on monochromatic. It gave unto its denizens a singularity of purpose. For the Exarch, the uniformity granted assuredness of purpose. Assuredness was welcomed, for it was what she felt truly lacking in at the moment.

She returned to the haven with her mask and sword in hand. Her entire body hurt, hair askew, entire form is disarray. 

She made her way quickly to her chamber, ignoring the looks of the other disciples, the things that were called Shadows, and making great speed.

Anger gnawed at her belly, and once she was isolated within her chamber she let out a scream.

Today was supposed to have been an easy mission. Wait for her quarry to investigate the body, kill the ones who hadn't awoken, and leave. Apparently; though, for some people, getting a Persona was as easy as breathing. 

She wanted to throw something, but she reined in the impulse. It's not fair! she had tried for so, so long to awaken to her own inner self, only to fail each time. Meditation, exercise, even throwing herself against Shadows in combat had failed. In the end, He had found it necessary to grant her the mask she had worn today, gifted with Personas of His choosing. She was grateful for it, to be true, but to use a crutch . . . and while the heretical banes could grasp at the power so easily too.

She sighed as she shucked off the coat and outermost layer of the black and red robes she wore, tossing them down on the stone slab that was her bed. The stunt of the roof of the train, especially jumping through glass, had torn her clothes up, and as she felt about around her shoulders, she found one of the many sources of pain. 

She ended up grabbing a pair of tweezers and a basin of water. She moved them her table, itself just another, taller stone slab with another before it which sufficed as a chair. A handful of books were scattered across the surface, and she moved them to the side to place the vessel down. 

The Exarch was about to pull the shard of glass from her flesh when she felt another presence enter the room. She briefly flinched before recognised its energy and calmed. 

"Here, let me," the Shadow said, and she offered the tweezers without turning around. In exchange, it gently pulled the shard out, only briefly stopping when she involuntarily let out a whine of pain, to ensure the withdrawal was done cleanly. "You look rougher than I'd expect. What happened?"

"I failed," she let out as a whisper. Despite herself, tears streamed down her face, and she raised a hand to wipe them away. 

From behind her, her guardian dropped the glass onto the table and produced a small cloth, which he dabbed in the water and began to clean her shoulder with. "I, for one," he said as he worked. "Don't think it's a bad thing to fail. It means to learn. Besides, you'll have time to try again. And it's not like anyone is permanently worse off for it. You got knocked around a bit, but I'm sure you'll get right back up."

I killed at least a dozen people to get this chance, she thought. I failed them by failing today. They did not deserve this. She made carefully sure not to say this, however. The Shadow may care for her, have cared for her for as long as she was in the Metaverse, but he knew not the full extent of her actions. She refused to ever let him now. Instead she sat there, slowly settling into comfort as he cleaned and healed her wounds and wiped away the grime she had accrued.

"Why did He chose you to take care of me?" She found herself asking as he combed out her hair, carefully removing tangles. 

"My guess?" the Shadow offered, "My true self knows about the Metaverse, or at least a version of it, so I'm a slightly more self-aware being than most Shadows. I can focus on things other than just my distortions. Add to that that I'm not attached to whatever He's doing, so even if my actual self notices, he won't be able to do anything about it." She hummed in response. "I do wish that He wouldn't send you out like this."

"I only do what's necessary for our Lord's plans," she said.

"Well, His idea of necessary and mine are rather different." The Shadow huffed, and then she heard it step back to check its own work. "Right. Got you cleaned up there. You should still get some rest, after all you've gone through, some sleep would do you some—"

The door to her chamber opened once again, and she could hear him groan in frustration as another presence entered. Even though she couldn't see who it was, the groan more than gave it away.

"Is the Exarch healed enough to walk?" Gabriel asked. "He asks for her audience."

"I've cleaned up the worst of it, but she needs—"

The Exarch cut him off, rising on shaking legs as she did so. "I can walk." Her caretaker began to make a noise of protest, and she raised her hand to silence him. "Abandon your concerns here. This must happen, and if prefer not tomorrow or overmorrow."

He pursed his lips in thought, and seemed ready to continue the argument before he sighed and stepped away. "Come find me if your wounds reopen," he said. She nodded before walking past him, entering lockstep with the green-skinned Shadow. She picked up her mask on the way over, securing it upon her face.

"Your concern is appreciated, Dojima," Gabriel said, voice mocking-sweet, before turning. The two of them moved deeper into the complex in silence, following the slow pulse of red light which pulled all deeper towards the cathedral.

"He coddles you," Gabriel eventually said as they walked. "Leaves you weakened."

"That's your opinion," the Exarch replied, too tired to speak with any heat. "One which Our Lord seems to disagree with." Gabriel made a noise of displeasure at that, but said no more.

The cathedral itself was still monochromatic. Built in cruciform architectural style, it was without light of its own, the red light from outside streaming through stained glass to create a dazzling prism of colours within. The space was barren save for the eastern end, where an altar was placed, and the Font at the entrance, into which the Exarch dipped her fingers (her right hand, she had to remind herself) and made her presence rightly known. The altar itself, like everything else within the haven, was spartan, only containing a golden dish upon its top. The Exarch had seen it when she had visited before—the Graal Santel, the dish of the Fisher King which brought abundance and survival to his father through the means of the single Communion wafer which lay within. From the Castle Corbenic to God's haven, the Holy Grail had been moved, and now the Exarch had been among those deemed worthy of standing in its presence. The very act left her humbled.

They approached the altar, and the Exarch knelt upon one knee, head prostrate. Gabriel remained fully standing, for angels could truly witness the glory without injury. Of this, she was envious.

Mea culpa, truly.

"Gabriel, you shall leave us," the harsh, metal noise of God's voice entered the hall, and the Exarch had to keep from blinking. Every time she heard Him speak, she was surprised by the sound, even as she had heard Him every time previous. There was silence as the angel took their leave from the cathedral, leaving the two alone.

"The three survived." It wasn't a question, and it brokered no room for argument.

"Yes," the Exarch said in shaky breath. "I had not foreseen the swiftness with which they gained their Personae. I can only apologise for my failure."

There was silence following, and the Exarch felt a bead of moisture fall along their neck. Whether it was sweat or blood from an opened wound, she couldn't tell.

"No matter," the voice eventually said. "You have already grown greatly, since I found you near death. You will grow yet more, and then you shall find success."

"Thank you," she said. "For your mercy."

"I saw you used a sinister means in your fight."

"Sinister? . . . Oh, that I fought with my left. Yes, it proved a necessity to win."

The voice laughed, and her ears cried in pain. From her position, the Exarch clenched her fist, trying in vain to drive away the discomfort. 

"Never seek to stand at the left hand of God, for that is where the goats are placed when the flock is sorted at the end. The left is the hand of Satan and Eve, you would do well to sever it from your mind."

She swallowed down any complaints which came to mind. "Yes, My Lord."

"Good," the voice said. "I have a new task for you, but it can wait until you're healed. But first, please, remove your mask." She frowned before doing so, letting it pull upwards and mess up her hair as she brought it into her hands. She stared at it for a long minute, tracing a hand across the slight bump of a nose, the glassy, wide eyes she saw through. The traces of colour where the black paint was starting to lift. She held it tightly in her hands, for it was her. There were no mirrored surfaces in the haven, that she could find from her time in the Metaverse. Her hands could explore the surface of her face, but she could not remember what it looked like. A part of her imagined that she had never had a face in the first place, as illogical as that was. Ultimately, whether or not she had one was irrelevant, for she knew it not, the face she knew was her mask.

"What is your name?" the voice said.

She frowned. "The Exarch?"

"That is your title. What is your name?"

She thought for a long while before answering. "I don't know."

"You have learned well, for such is intended. You have no name, you are the Exarch. All else is unneeded. Do you understand?"

"Yes," she said, a lingering pain holding in her heart. She knew not why it was there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: mentions of injury and field surgery. Discrimination against left-handed people, dehumanising language and implications of further dehumanisation.
> 
> Shorter chapter this time around while I finish figuring out the larger chapters that will be coming soon. 
> 
> "Fun" fact: 95% of Japanese women and 80% of men are forced to use their right hand instead of their left in childhood. As a left-handed person myself, this makes me very grumpy. 
> 
> As for Jaldy's new religiousness, this is, on a Watsonian level, taking a form the Exarch would feel beholden to. On a Doylist level, it's a way for me to express my grievances with my own Catholic/Methodist upbringing.
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed, and always happy to hear your thoughts!


	12. Getting the band back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang goes to school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings can be found at the end of the chapter.

Search Terms: Sophia

Search Terms: Sophie

Search Terms: AI

Search Terms: Put his

Search Terms: Put his

Search Terms: fucking autocorrect I meant Pithos

Search Terms: Pandora

Search Terms: how to get an AI to notice you

Search Terms: how to make a suspicious search history

Search Terms: god damn it I don't know if Sophia even exists in this reality

With a huff, Akira stowed her phone and finished adjusting the school uniform she hadn't worn in decades. It felt wrong to wear, and she had to repeat to herself "this is just your uniform" again and again to let it fully sink in. For once in her life, she was glad to be wearing a male-coded outfit—she didn't want to examine how odd it would feel to be wearing a schoolgirl's outfit as a thirty-seven year old woman.

Off-handedly, she remembered how, not long after graduation, one of the students at the school in her hometown had sold her uniform to someone who had the intent of using it for kink roleplay. That, Akira decided, was probably why she felt so off, felt so wrong wearing this thing.

At least she had managed to get some sleep the previous night. Exhaustion, from the emotional fallout of her discussions with Sadayo and Goro, from the fight, and from her awakening, all cut through any anxiety and pain she felt. Instead she slept soundly, so deeply dreams of her old life, her new life, or the Velvet Room had refused to manifest. 

The last of these was of slight concern, but she refused to let it bother her long. She hoped to hit the ground running, yes, but that afternoon or the next she could visit the entrance on Central Street and gather what she needed.

Besides, the earliest levels of Mementos had held the same Shadows she had remembered before. If there was any luck upon her side, the same would be true of Kamoshida's palace.

For today, though, meeting with the remaining Thieves would be enough. Especially if the pattern of each coming from their own universes would continue—Akira would very much like a break from that nonsense. She doubted she would get one. _At least I probably won’t have to deal with dating Goro in any other universes. Small wonders, I suppose._

Sojiro was downstairs when she went down, though he wasn't behind the stove, instead sitting in one of the booths, a jacket on and hat at his side. He looked up at her when she came down. "I guess I should have expected you'd actually be going to school," he said, standing up as he did so. "Listen, kid, I'm probably gonna be spending most of my time at the hospital or at home for a while, taking care of my daughter."

"How is she?" Akira asked, as though she hadn't heard from Futaba's own mouth.

"She's doing alright," Sojiro said. "I was at the hospital a few hours ago for when she came out of surgery, and she was fine then, so I think she'll be alright. At the same time, I'm not going to be able to promise I'll be here when you get home. So here you go." He tossed her the key as he spoke, and Akira caught it with ease. It felt warm in her hand, and she had to stop herself from staring down at it. It felt strange getting it this early on, though she did suppose it wasn't exactly out of trust yet . . . she wished it hadn't taken Futaba getting injured to afford her this freedom. 

"I also might not be able to make you food myself for a while, but if the shop's closed you can make things that are in the fridge for yourself."

"Sure thing," she said, feeling a bit numb at the overwhelming freedom she was being granted.

"And listen," he added, as though he needed to be reminded to be harsh. "I still don't trust you, this is just necessary while I'm taking care of her. If I find out you're doing anything behind my back, you're out of here, understand?"

"Absolutely," she said, pocketing the key as she did so. "I should get going to school though. I hope everything goes well for your daughter. I'll pray for a swift recovery."

He chuckled and reached for an umbrella, reminding her to grab her own. "Gotta say, kid, you have been impressing me these past few days. Got a lot on my mind, but you've been very accommodating."

"I try," she said, opening the door for them both. "I can't imagine how awful this must be."

 _That's a lie,_ a part of her said. _We're both scared parents. The only difference is that I'm in mourning and can't even show it._

Oh good, was she about to cry in front of Sojiro. _Not the time, tear ducts._

Thankfully, he only chuckled once more. "Right, well, call me if anything comes up. And take care, all right?" They parted ways at that, Sojiro heading to get his car and Akira to the train station. She listened to an arcana slide into place as she walked, the Star coming into view. _The Star, hmm? Guidance, loss yet hope, if I remember my astrology correctly. Well, either way I'm certainly not complaining._

The train ride was uneventful, though as she rode along she realised that she would also be lacking having Morgana at her side each day. It was a strange thought—while he had been one of her best friends in her past life, she couldn't deny that getting some time completely to herself would be so nice. That first time around, she had almost no time to herself the entire year, even when in her room having to spend nearly every moment with Morgana had left her constantly on edge. When the only time you had to yourself was when you used the restroom, poor things happened to your mental state. So even if she wouldn't be able to see him as often, at least Akira would have some time in blessed isolation. Getting to set her own sleep schedule would also be nice, albeit a minor thing. If anything, the schedule Morgana had set for her that first year had ended up proving beneficial enough for her health, physical and mental, that she would probably stick with it even now. _Ah well, we'll just have to see how life changes here on out._

She almost got lost again in Shibuya station, years of absence having eroded much of her memory. Thankfully, the trip back to Leblanc yesterday jogged her memory, and she made good time, even picking up a wake-me-up coffee and bagel on the way.

As she stood in the crowds waiting for the train, nibbling on her food, she could see someone approaching in the corner of her, too bee-lined to not be deliberate. She turned, expecting to maybe see Ryuji or Ann, only instead to find a small red-headed girl wearing the Shujin uniform. There was a conflicted look in her eyes, noticeable underneath her glasses, as though hope were struggling to beat out sadness. Despite this, her posture was perfect, and a smile appeared on her face as she stood in front of Ren. "Hello, senpai!"

 _Oh I am so not awake enough for this._ Akira decided, and took another swig of her coffee. It tasted like swill.

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" she asked, and watched as the smile fell apart in real time. A second thought flitted through her mind then, and she voiced it. "I don't suppose you were a part of my old friend group, were you?"

"That depends?" The girl said, her voice way too cheery and emotional for this hour. "Did this friend group revolve around some weird phone app?" Akira nodded and took a drink. "Then yes, I was part of the Phantom Thieves. But how do you not—"

"Sorry, it's weird," Akira said, cutting the other girl off with the wave of a bagel-holding hand. The girl stared at the bagel hungrily, and with a sigh, Akira handed it over. The price for rudeness, she supposed. "It looks like the entire friend group is remembering things, but everyone remembers a different story. So I'm afraid that, in the timeline I'm from, if you want to call it that, I never met you."

The same desperate sadness returned to the girl's face, but she shouldered through it quickly and returned her public mask to her face. "It makes sense, even if it sounds like a bad science fiction novel. Here." She extended her hand, and Akira took it and shook it. "My name is Yoshizawa Sumire, and I'm pleased to make your acquaintance."

Akira smiled. "Kurusu Akira. Pleased to make yours."

Yoshizawa giggled. "I already know your name, Aki-chan. Oh!" She exclaimed, eyes wide. "I'm sorry, that was overly familiar of me, I shouldn't—"

"It's fine," Akira said with a shrug. "My attempted murderer comes from a universe where he was dating me, you being over familiar with me is significantly more chill.”

“Your attempted mur . . . oh, you mean Goro also remembers?” Akira nodded, still not entirely trusting how she would respond should she speak. “That’s good, we could certainly use his expertise.”

Akira hummed noncommittally. The train arrived, and so they took a short break in their conversation to get onto the train. “I take it he was on the team in your world,” Akira said as they shuffled in, crammed together in the car.

“Yeah,” the girl said. “He and I joined around the same time, though he ruffled up against the rest of us for a bit there. He was a good friend, though.” 

Akira sighed. Before yesterday, she would have likely laughed at the suggestion. Before yesterday, that was. _Ugh, why couldn’t he have just stayed consistent as a murderer._

“Enough about Akechi,” Akira said. “What’s your story? Clearly you know me, while I’m at a disadvantage.”

“Oh, right,” the girl said, blushing faintly. “Well, as I mentioned before, I’m Yoshizawa Sumire. I guess I’m now a first year at Shujin, and an up and coming gymnast. Let’s see . . . oh gosh this is kind of tough, I’ve been spending so much time recently focusing on Metaverse stuff. I do a lot of reading in my spare time, I guess. Gosh, this is actually pretty tough.”

Akira chuckled. “I get that. How about this, take turns, each of us gets to ask a random question.” The girl nodded, and Akira continued with saying “Right then, favourite food?”

They went back and forth for the rest of the trip, learning nuggets of information about each other. It was nice, simple. Having a chance to learn about someone for the first time was one of Akira’s favourite things to do, and she hadn’t expected to be able to experience this with any of her compatriots. And besides, Yoshizawa seemed like a rather sweet person.

Though Akechi had also seemed like a rather sweet person before he’d tried to kill her, kill her teammates, and began screeching about attic trash. _Sure, he’s on my side now, but there’s no guarantee that the same is true for this girl._ In front of her, the girl continued talking about her rescue dog. _Keep your eyes open, Akira. You don’t know what people are planning._

They shared Akira’s umbrella as they walked out of the station, walking slowly while Akira kept her eyes out for others. She’d first met two of her closest friends in the span of the next city block and five minutes, after all, but there was no guarantee that the same would be true now. Ann in particular would likely want to take a different route this morning. And yet, as Akira approached, she could see both Ann and Ryuji standing on the side of the road. Unfortunately, Akira could also see that there was a car next to them. She scowled, and tightened her fingers around her umbrella.

"What is it?" Yoshizawa asked.

"Kamoshida," Akira growled, and as she did so she could see the other girl's expression darken. "My thoughts exactly. Now come on, we shouldn't leave them alone."

As Akira advanced on the scene, she could see Ann speaking to the car's driver, gesturing back to Ryuji, who was mostly just looking confused at what was happening. _I suppose his universe must be rather different than ours? Though at least he was able to meet up with Ann._

"Yes, Kamoshida-sensei, I'll let you know if anything happens," Ann said as they came into earshot. It seemed to satisfy the bastard in the car, and he continued to drive on. As he did so, Ann let out a deep groan before turning on the blond boy. "Seriously," Ann muttered. "Could you at least act like you're angry with him. I get things are different this time around, but it won't help if you raise suspicion. Didn't you say that it would be bad?"

"Yeah," Ryuji said, watching as the car left. "It's just strange, y'know. I don't remember the guy ever teaching at Shujin."

"But you do remember, though," Akira called out as she approached. Ryuji looked up at her, eyes wide, and then a relieved grin broke across his face. "The future, I mean. Or rather, _a_ future."

"He's come back in time," Ann said, jabbing a thumb to Ryuji, who still appeared gobsmacked. "I haven't. Though when you say 'a future's . . .?"

"We're each remembering a different timeline," Akira said, and gave Ann a short nod. "Name's Kurusu Akira."

"Y-yeah," Ryuji said, finally rediscovering his voice. "Oh, Ann, this is the girl I was telling you about, we ended up forming the Phantom Thieves together. Oh, wait, I should ask—you were a girl in my world, but if we aren't all from the same world, are you . . .?"

"I must admit I'm also curious," Yoshizawa spoke up. "That was also the case in mine. Y-you were actually how I realised I wasn't straight."

"Y-yeah, I'm a girl," Akira said, it finally being her turn to stammer, heat pooling in her cheeks. Both for the validation and for the sudden discovery of one like herself. "That said, we should probably head towards school. I'm hoping we can meet the last members of the team before class, and that way we can coordinate things this afternoon."

"Smart move," a voice came from behind them, and Akira turned around to see Makoto and Haru approaching. The warm feeling in Akira's chest only intensified at the knowledge that all save one of them were back together. She nodded to Makoto as the other girl stopped in front of her. "So, Kurusu Akira?"

"Who else would I be?"

"Amamiya Ren." _Guess that's another weird thing between timelines._

Akira only shrugged. "Can't say the name is familiar. Either way, though, we should probably get going."

It was strange, walking to Shujin as a single group with all six of the Shujin Thieves. It felt good, as though her found family were surrounding her like armor. Apparently Yoshizawa and Haru remembered each other rather well, and were chattering between themselves in the back of the group, while Ann and Makoto were discussing the nature of time travel between themselves. 

As they approached Shining itself, Ryuji came to Akira's side. "So," he started. "Where's your guitar. I figured you'd be bringing it with you like you had the first time around."

"Guitar?" she asked, confusion rising in her. "What are you talking about?"

"Your . . . guitar. You know, the instrument."

"I'm aware of what a guitar is. I just don’t own one.”

Ryuji shot an eyebrow up. “Then, what instrument _do_ you play?”

“I don’t play one.”

“What? But then, how, I don’t—wait,” he said as they all got to the school’s gates, and he stared wide-eyed at the sign in front of the school. “I don’t understand.”

It was now the rest of the group’s turn to look at him in confusion. “What don’t you understand?” Makoto jumped in.

“Shujin,” Ryuji responded, muttering. “It’s not the Shujin Preparatory Academy for the Arts.”

  
  


Accordion: lol

Accordion: so let me get this straight

Accordion: in ryujis world

Accordion: ur high school is focused on music  
  


Accordion: and the phantom thieves

Accordion: was our shitty garage band?

Ryuji: dude its not funny! What if i don’t do well at the classes now cuz i was focused on learning to play music

Ann: You would fail anyways. And you meant to use ‘it’s’

Accordion: Ryuji? wut instrument do u main?

Ryuji: Main???? 

Ryuji: Oh, right, duh. Flute

_Accordion has renamed Ryuji to Flute._

Trumpet: Actually, Futaba, with the majority of the Thieves here, I imagine it would aid clarity if we were to just use our actual names in this chat.

Accordion: Boo u spoilsport

Didgeridoo: kronk-no-no-hes-got-a-point.png

Accordion: Ugh fine

_Accordion has renamed Flute to Ryuji._

_Accordion has renamed Didgeridoo to Akira._

Sumire: Who are we missing anyways?

Trumpet: Morgan(a) is currently in the Metaverse and doesn’t have access to a phone, but Akira and I have met him.

Akira: Otherwise, just Yusuke. Anyone have any updates on him?

Accordion: I tried tracking his phone but i don’t think he turned it on at all for a few days

_Accordion has renamed Accordion to Futaba._

Makoto: Haru and I actually ran into him. It didn’t go that well, but we can tell you this afternoon.

Makoto: Also, who is Trumpet?

Trumpet: Ah, right.

_Trumpet has renamed Trumpet to Goro._

Goro: Hopefully that clears things up.

Makoto: What is he doing in the chat???

Ryuji: Oh hey its Akira’s preppy boyfriend.

Ann: Still wrong ‘its’

Akira: Excuse me WHAT?

Akira: Oh wait shit I forgot I need to go talk to Kawakami-sensei before class, brb.

With that, Akira stowed her phone and quickly left her classroom, not wanting to have anything to do with the ensuing storm. Instead she made her way to the faculty office, repeating the mantra of _don’t act casual, don’t act casual, don’t act casual_ in her head.

This time when she entered the office, Sadayo was far from the only person. Akira looked across the room and struggled to remember the names of each of the other teachers. Eventually she just gave up, before approaching her wife and clearing her throat.

“Ah, you’re here,” Sadayo said, gathering up some papers as she spoke. Behind her, one of the other teachers looked over at Akira, who gave a polite nod.

“So, this is the transfer student?” the man said, and after a moment some piece of Akira made the connection. _It’s grumpy chalk guy!_ “Remember,” the man continued. “Rules are the only way peace is kept. You’d be best to follow them.”

 _Man, what I wouldn’t give to see grumpy chalk guy live in an anarchist commune,_ she thought, only to ignore it and simply say, “I’ll keep this in mind, sir.” 

The man huffed, seemingly satisfied, and returned his attention to his work. Sadayo just rolled her eyes at him and passed the stack over to akira, who took them in response to passing back the paperwork Boss had signed.

“Thanks,” Sadayo said. “Glad to see you got here just fine.”

“Well, I wanted to make a good first impression,” Akira replied, fidgeting briefly with her bag as she spoke. Sadayo looked like she wanted to say something, but didn’t. It had only been one day, but already she was looking healthier than when Akira last saw her. She had to keep herself from smiling at the sight.

"Come on, then," Sadayo said, gathering up her remaining materials. "I'll show you the way to your classroom."

Grumpy chalk man grumbled something in response, but Akira didn't pay attention to him, instead stepping to the side and following her wife out of the room.

"How are things going?" Sadayo asked as they entered the hallway, her voice low. Akira kept close to her, moving out of the way of other students and sticking to the wall to make it seem more natural.

"Everyone except Ann remembers. We're going to meet tonight and discuss our plans. Palace infiltration should start tomorrow. I think it will be fine. That said, we ran into a hostile Metaverse user last night. They were . . . rough."

Sadayo looked up to her, eyes widened with concern. "Another user? What do you mean? Was it the hitman-detective?"

"Sadly not," Akira said. "At least he'd be expected. Hey, after the Thieves talk, we can go into the Metaverse, have the chat we were planning. Sound good?"

Beside her, Sadayo nodded, and then they were at the classroom door. "Alright then," Sadayo said, her hand on the handle. "Ready for this?"

"When am I?" Sadayo grinned at the question. "Either way, it's showtime."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: I can't actually think of any of the top of my head for this chapter.
> 
> One thing I will say is that, while I know of what generally happens in Persona 5 Scramble, it won't actually play a large role in this story--just that it's events did happen in Akira's universe.
> 
> This is more of a connecting chapter, which I'm generally not a fan of but prove themselves necessary. Either way, I hope you all enjoyed this, and feedback is always appreciated!


	13. Mutual predation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Makoto reminisces and the group makes a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings can be found in the end of the chapter notes.

The night before they had delved into Sae's palace—the night before she had been forced to make the sacrifice play to protect the retreating Thieves _after_ Joker had said he would do it; the night before she'd been interrogated by her sister, but only after being drugged and beaten; the night before she'd had guns pointed at her head by both Akechi Goro and Amamiya Ren—she had been at Leblanc.

Watching her sister handle the calling card had scooped out all the strength which Makoto had cultivated and replaced it with unyielding anxiety. All the ways that the next day could go wrong which she had rationalised away returned with a vengeance, and whenever she closed her eyes, when she had blinked, she saw her sister crying out tears of black blood, eyes rolled back, dying slowly and painfully.

And so she had taken a train out to Yongen-Jaya that night after sneaking past her sister, shooting a quick text Ren's way to let him know she was coming. When she did finally arrive at the café, the door was unlocked, and he was waiting next to one of the booths for her. Without words she crashed into him, hugging the scrawny boy close and crying quietly against his shirt. Surprisingly strong and soft arms wrapped around her and warm breath tickled the top of her head.

“Thanks,” she had mumbled into Ren’s shirt. “I know, intellectually, that we’ve planned for every contingency. But I still can’t help but feel that we’re missing something.”

“It’s your sister,” Ren said, voice easy, the mere sound of it helping her to relax. “The fact that you’re worried about her just shows how much you care. It doesn’t speak ill of you, not in the slightest.”

“Thanks,” Makoto said, still hiccuping slightly. God, she hated how weak she sounded. How weak she felt. She was supposed to be their rock, the second-in-command who could be strong when Ren wasn’t able to be. And yet here she was. “It’s still tough, though. And there’s still the sensation that we’re missing something. Maybe something with Akechi—there are so many moving pieces in our plan. And if just one of them goes wrong . . .” She frowned, and tilted her head down, not wanting to look him in the eye. Just as the thought of Sae dying had filled her mind before, now the thought of Ren dying was all she could imagine. After all, Ren was going to have to be a sitting duck tomorrow, and—

“Hey,” Ren murmured, gently tilting her head back up to look at him. “I know that we’ve got this. I know that _you’ve_ got this. You’ve always been a strong person. A smart person. And besides, I know my girl is gonna take care of me.”

That managed to get a reaction out of her, as her fear was washed away and replaced by a flustered feeling. _God, how does he say things like that with a straight face?_

“Y-you!” Makoto stammered, a laugh coming to the fore despite everything. Ren was chuckling as well, leaning back and covering his mouth with his hand. There was merriment in her eyes, despite what would happen tomorrow. _He really does trust me in this,_ she decided, the full weight hitting her and making her heart feel light. “Thank you, Ren. I really needed that.”

“Of course,” Ren said, running a hand through his hair. “Tomorrow is going to be rough, I won’t lie. But we have a plan, and I trust we’ll be able to go through with it. And I trust that because of you.”

“That means the world to me,” Makoto said, before rising up and kissing her boyfriend. He tasted like coffee, and she had relished in the taste at the time.

The next thing she remembered tasting had been blood in her mouth after a cop had kicked her teeth in. 

Coffee was always unappetising after that. She kept drinking, though, because it helped reinforce two simple truths about the world.

_Ren always lies. You cannot tell Ren's lies from his truths._

And today, she met Akira, the girl wearing the same skin as Ren, with the same smile, with the same thoughts. She remembered too, remembered a different world, apparently. One where she never betrayed the Phantom Thieves. One where they had succeeded in deposing Shido.

 _Does Akira always lie? Can I tell Akira's lies from her truths?_ The questions had haunted her as she had walked alongside the others to Shujin, staring at the back of Ren—no, Akira's—head, trying to determine from behind if the girl had any tells. Like Ren, she seemed to scratch at the back of her head when she was nervous, but Ren had weaponised that nervousness, making himself seem less threatening before attacking. 

She hadn't been able to learn anything else from Akira before they parted ways, Makoto taking a few minutes in the student council room to breathe and relax before going to class.

And then _he_ had shown up in the group chat, acting as though everyone was happy for his presence. As though Akechi hadn't murdered at least a dozen people (likely including herself, though admittedly she had no proof of that last one). The fact that Akechi had been in the chat with Akira and Futaba before the others joined also likely meant that he and Akira had already met. Had already had a chance to communicate with one another without prying eyes. The same setup which had led to Ren's betrayal.

Her phone lit up again, and despite everything, Makoto forced herself to look down at the chat.

Getting the Band Back Together 

Akira: Alright, just got settled back into class

Akira: oh also, to get everyone on the same page, could we maybe get people's names, age, pronouns, maybe an interesting fact about their timeline

Ryuji: boo icebreakers

Akira: oh hush icebreakers work for their intended purpose

Akira: anyways, I'm Kurusu Akira, I'm 37, pronouns are she/her, and I was part of the Diet members that legalised gay marriage in my timeline

Futaba: yell heah score one for gays!!

Futaba: anyways im Isshiki Futaba, 28, she/her, and 1 sec

_Isshiki,_ Makoto noted, frowning down at her phone. _So Wakaba never died in her world? Or did Sojiro not take her in?_

Futaba: just did a quick search, apparently the U.S.S.R dissolved in this timeline

Futaba: so that's my fun fact, the U.S.S.R still exists in my world

Ann: dang

Haru: oh wow that is interesting indeed

Haru: I can't begin to imagine the sorts of differences that must make

Goro: I'm Akechi Goro, 28, he/him. For my interesting fact, my universe had the 2020 Olympics get cancelled

Akira: covid?

Goro: yup

Futaba: oh fuck I forgot about that

Futaba: plz dont make me relive 2020

Makoto: what's Covid?

Futaba: Makoto confirmed for best timeline

Goro: Indeed. Um anyways, it was a really bad virus that started a pandemic

Makoto: ah, gotcha

Makoto: anyways, Niijima Makoto, she/her, fun fact is my universe didn't have this I guess. Age is 43

Haru: Okumura Haru, age 50, she/her. Umm, fun fact, give me a minute

Futaba: sure thing. Ryuji, Ann, Sumire, ur turns!

Ryuji: 'kay. Sakamoto Ryuji, 27, he/him. Uh, fun fact I guess, I'm cisgender in this universe, which is a bit strange. Not really complaining I guess

Akira: wait, when you say in this universe you mean?

Ryuji: I was FTM in my world, I guess I'm MTM or whatever here

Akira: dang, I'm jelly

Akira: MTF in both mine and here

Ryuji: sorry to hear that

Ryuji: same time tho, high-five my gender homie!

Akira: (ノ^_^)ノ

Ann: d'awww

Ann: Takamaki Ann, 16, she/they. Interesting fact, I guess this is my home universe, does that count?

Futaba: hell yeah it counts

Akira: Is there a pronoun between the two you prefer over the other?

Ann: nah not really. They is good 100% of the time as a safe option—I internally use she like 90% of the time except for when I really can't stand it

Akira: completely understandable

Futaba: ╰( ･ ᗜ ･ )➝ 

Sumire: sure thing, senpai!

Ann: am I your senpai if your older than me?

Sumire: good question

Sumire: anyways, I'm Sumire, 24, she/her, and the Metaverse still exists in my timeline

Ann: What's a Metaverse?

Futaba: good question Ann

Futaba: anyways

Futaba: Haru, wheres ur fact

Haru: oh, right

Haru: ummm

Haru: the LDP no longer has a monopoly on the Diet

Akira: FINALLY

As she watched the texts continue past, Makoto heard the classroom door open, and she looked up to see her homeroom teacher. Sending a quick notice to the rest of the group to get off their phones, she tucked her own away and tried her best to pay attention to the lesson. It was difficult, as whenever she glanced over to Haru ahead of her she remembered everything that was coming. If Akira was anything like Ren was, she was already planning how to stab them in the back, or was already discussing with Akechi how they ought to fool the Thieves. Akechi, who she had apparently already been speaking with. But was this just a coincidence? The girl had reacted negatively to learning she had been in a relationship with Akechi in Ryuji's universe. Unless that too was merely a continuation of the deception.

_Ren always lies. You cannot tell Ren's lies from his truths._

Makoto frowned as she kept idly jotting down notes, thankful for having already lived through the school year as it meant she could survive with not paying much attention. Assuming they were working against her, what would they be doing? At the moment, there were still foes who they would likely want the help of the group for, and would try to play nice for them. Getting the Thieves to do their dirty work, wearing them out and getting them in the perfect situation to strike.

That gave Makoto time though, time before everything went to hell. If she could convince some of the others to be wary of Akira and Akechi, then perhaps they would have a fighting chance. Though that left the question of who—

"Niijima-chan," a voice called out, and she darted her head upward to see her teacher speaking. "What is the term used for when two species of animal or plant both attempt to prey upon each other for a source of food."

"Mutual predation," Makoto said, half-remembering the answer from her first time around.

"That's correct, though you shouldn't confuse it with mutualism, which is when two species both aid each other. There are only a few species which are so evenly matched that both are capable of readily taking the other down."

In front of her, she could see Haru angle to give her a thumbs up.

 _I suppose she must have forgotten all this,_ Makoto realised. _All those years from now, and it would fade. And if she thinks I'm nearly her age, I suppose she would be impressed._

She stopped at the thought, reflecting upon their interactions. _She hasn't once caught on to me, I haven't once slipped._

_She can't tell the difference between my lies and my truths._

Makoto had to keep from laughing in sheer relief at the thought, blinking away the tears that formed. _Maybe things aren't too late for you. If Akira tries to keep me in the dark, I can keep her in the dark as well, perhaps. And if I do that, then maybe I can stop them before they betray us._

She would need to learn how properly to lie. But she knew she could do it.

***

The group had reconvened after classes let out, Ann barraging Akira with questions as they were leaving the school's premises. Akira had done her best to answer, trying to keep explanations limited until the meeting began. Thankfully, Goro had been waiting at Shujin's gate for the group, with the promise of a safe place to talk. And that was how they had found themselves under clear blue skies, standing upon emerald plains. There was a faint smell of lavender. Far away, Akira could hear birds chirping.

"This was a good find," Akira said with a smile.

"I hate it here," was Goro's response.

"I think it's nice."

"It's unbearably saccharine."

"Well I think it's cute."

"If by cute you mean hellishly twee."

"Goro, it's literally just a meadow. You see these all the time."

"I was referring more to the triple rainbows and woodland critters frolicking about."

"Ah. Yeah, I'll agree that that's a bit much."

"Like I said," he continued, leaning down to pick a dandelion out of the ground and blowing its seeds apart. "Hellishly twee."

"As opposed to you," Akira said, pointing a finger at the maroon sweater the man was wearing. "Who is hellishly tweed."

"What?" He asked, looking down and pinching his clothes as he spoke. "Akira, this isn't tweed, this is cheviot. It's a completely different type of fabric."

"Dork," she commented.

"Dumbass," he muttered, before letting out a light laugh. "I do appreciate the pun, though."

"No problem," Akira said, standing fully and stretching out. The sun was warm against her skin, and the breeze only served to ruffle her hair and toss about the flowers. Nearby, a rabbit tilted its head to stare at her before bounding away. "It's hard to imagine that this is someone's Palace. Who even is this?"

Goro shrugged. "A television producer whose Shadow I wanted to check in on before agreeing to an interview. The man is an optimist to the extreme, to the point of denying any bad things happening in the world around him. I never encountered any hostile Shadows in here before. Figured it would be a good place to discuss things." He paused. "We should probably head back to the group. I think Niijima is giving me this stink eye.”

“Considering your history, I can’t say that’s surprising,” Akira muttered, but she nonetheless acquiesced and began walking across the meadow with Goro. The rest of the group had stayed on the nearby hilltop. Ryuji and Ann had reacted . . . poorly to being dragged into the Metaverse for the first time ever, and the rest of the group had volunteered to look after them and answer questions while Akira and Goro checked the place for Shadows—Makoto had not trusted Goro’s insistence that the Palace was free of threats. If Akira was being honest, she could perfectly sympathise with that uncertainty. 

“You never know,” Goro said. “Considering what Sakamoto remembers, there’s always a chance that some of these universes might be very different.” He paused. “Did you know that in Futaba’s universe I joined much earlier. Apparently it was obvious she was doing something suspicious, and I investigated her out of concern. And I discovered the Thieves as they were going after Kaneshiro.”

“Sounds like the sort of thing that a good sibling would do.”

“Yeah,” Goro said, his voice wistful. “I think she wants me to be that sort of person. I don’t know if I can be that person.”

Akira nodded. “Understandable, especially if . . . wait, _did_ you kill her mother? In your universe, I mean.” She stopped, and Goro also slowed, sighing and lowering his head. “You did, didn’t you?”

Goro opened his mouth, tried to speak and only succeeded in making a choking noise. Eventually, he found his words. “It’s one of the greatest regrets of my life.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Akira said softly. He looked somewhat green. “Have . . . have you talked to her about this?”

He sighed. “Not yet. I was unsure of whether or not it was valid to bring it up. After all, if you ask Futaba whether or not her mother was killed, she very well may have a different opinion. I don’t know if an apology would be appreciated, as such. Add to that the situation we’re in right now, and as such I was planning on waiting until things have settled before letting her know.”

That was far from the actual reason, Akira imagined. _He’s probably scared,_ Akira thought. _After all, it’s not like he is the only one who is planning on hiding things. Though a murder is certainly a different story than an awkward relationship._

“You should tell her,” Akira decided. “Whether or not it is meaningful is for her to decide. I won’t ask you to do it right now, because you’re right, we have a lot happening right now, but . . .”

“End of month,” Goro suggested. “I’ll tell her by the end of this month. If I haven’t by then, you’re welcome to tell her yourself.”

“It’s your story to tell,” Akira said. They stood there for a moment longer, Goro letting out another deep, lingering sigh. A noise from above caught Akira’s attention, and they watched as the twin ravens descended and landed on Goro’s shoulders. He jumped a bit as they did so, but they remained calm as he nervously fidgeted. Once it was certain he wouldn’t get harassed further by the birds, he let out a weak smile and began petting one of them. “We should get going again. That said, looks like you’re getting used to them.”

Goro let out a laugh at that and resumed his walk up the hill. Akira followed after a moment. “So I have. If I’d have to guess, my other self lacked several navigational skills, and used these two to compensate for that.”

“They’re Personae, then?”

“Don’t seem to be,” he answered. “To be honest, I’m not entirely sure what to call them. I can understand them, though, how they communicate. They call themselves Huginn and Muninn.”

“The names sound familiar,” Akira said as she navigated over a fairly sizable boulder. “But I can’t recall from where.”

“They’re Odin’s birds, the ones he used to see all the realms. I suppose he might have loaned them to Loki or something. Honestly, I’m not too concerned with the exact mechanics, so long as they work.”

“Fair enough,” Akira murmured, and with that they were back with the rest of the group. Haru seemed to be finishing up a brief explanation of cognitive beings. Looking between the two, they seemed to be holding up alright with the explanation. Goro sat himself down next to the Yoshizawa girl, who looked at him with fondness while she cleaned her glasses. Akira walked around the informal circle the group had formed in the grass, taking her own seat next to Ryuji.

“How was your talk?” Makoto asked, an edge of wariness in her voice. The girl moved slowly and sat herself between Haru and Goro, cutting them off from each other. 

Akira shrugged. “Honestly, it was mostly just shooting the shit. We’re almost certain that the Palace is danger-free, though. Unless Huginn and Muninn saw anything?” Akira looked over to Goro as she asked this, and he shook his head. “So we should be good.”

Makoto raised an eyebrow. “Huginn and Muninn . . . the birds? You learned this from the birds?”

“Hey, we all showed up here from alternate realities,” Morgan offered from where he was lounging in the sun, his coat balled up underneath his head as a pillow. “Compared to that, I’d say telepathic birds are small potatoes.”

“Potatoes . . . anyway,” Makoto muttered, before waving her hand. “I think we’ve explained just about everything that we need to.”

“Excellent, thank you,” Akira said. “How are you two holding up?” Opposite her, Ryuji shook his hand, before letting it become a wavering thumbs up.

“It’s strange,” he mentioned. “Kinda scary, ya know? But having people be able to explain it helped. Besides, I can’t deny that it’s real. Or geez, that time travel happened. But what, you all are big time heroes, right? Saving the day by changing people’s minds?”

“Yeah, basically.”

“Sweet, I’d be in then.”

“Glad to hear it,” Haru chimed in. “What about you, Takamaki-chan? I can imagine that, being the only one who hasn’t come back must be somewhat stressful.”

“Yeah, it’s not ideal,” Ann said. "The fact that I'm the only one who isn't an adult is not great . . . but I was a full member of this group, right?"

"You were," Akira nodded. "That said, you're under no obligation to join us."

"I don't know," Makoto butted in. "She, at the very least, should see our first palace through. Awakening to a Persona and facing it, I imagine it was highly instrumental to her own growth. And beyond that, considering what we're going up against, we need all the members we can get."

"What are we up against?" Ryuji asked at the same time Ann asked, "Who was the first palace?"

"I can help with this," Goro said, stepping further into the informal circle they had been drifting into. "The politician Masayoshi Shido is using this world to further his own political agenda, with the aim of regressing Japan to a far-right ideology. Most of our targets were involved with stopping or exposing his actions. That said, the first target was completely uninvolved, and was instead a teacher at Shujin, guilty of corporeal and sexual abuse of students."

"Kamoshida, then," Ann muttered, rubbing their temple with a hand. "Oh God, don't tell me that . . ." 

"Not you," Akira said softly, sparing a moment to glare back at Goro. God, she knew this conversation would probably have happened sooner than later, but there was enough going on today that Akira had really wanted to not also deal with that bastard's crimes.

"Then who?" Ann asked quietly, but as Akira looked at her old friend, she could see a fire burning in the their eyes. "Tell me."

"Suzui Shiho," Akira said, feeling too weak to deny them further. "I know for a fact that he won't be in town the days he would have done it, but still . . . that's who."

Immediately, any concern which Akira might have seen on Ann's face vanished, hardening into the same fire she was used to seeing. "I'm going then," they said, tightening their fist. "Maybe not for the others, but if he poses a risk to her . . . I know what things that monster will do. I can't let him. The bastard will . . ." they broke up into a pained grunt, and clutched at their head, nails tightening and scraping their scalp.

"So," a voice broke through the group, and Ryuji scrambled backwards with a shout. The others all stepped back as well, and Akira shared a glance with Goro. _That was enough for them to awaken? Damn. Talk about dedication._

“We’re going on the hunt, are we? Good, then cleanse all thoughts but that which drive you. They shall try to rob you of your strength, refuse their demands. Grasp your bow, and take aim at the animals that would call themselves human.”

Ann’s hands were shaking, reaching up to take hold of the cloth mask which had formed over their mouth and came to the bridge of their nose. “I . . . I take this off?” they asked, voice muffled. Akira nodded, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder, and Ann screwed her eyes shut before ripping it off with a grunt of pain. For an instant Akira saw a new outfit form across the her friend's form, and the flash of a being behind them. Then it all faded into the passivity of the Palace, leaving Ann shaking, hands on their head. “That was . . . that was something else,” they muttered. “Diana is with me now. I couldn’t have ever imagined anything like this. I think I understand now.” Ann let out a breathless laugh and rolled her neck. “How do we get started?”

 _They're so strong,_ Akira thought, leaning back into the circle. “For the moment, we won’t be able to have Futaba join us; she had surgery last night and will be out of commission for a while. Likewise, I imagine we won’t be able to get Yusuke onto our side?”

“He seemed insistent,” Haru said, frowning at the thought. “I also doubt that we will manage to convince him after what happened.”

“I shouldn’t have lost my temper,” Makoto said. “He was just so blasé about the stakes. Acted like we were fools for caring. I may not have been around when he first joined, but it feels like what you had said he was like before his awakening. It got to me.”

“We’re all under stress,” Akira said. “But it does mean we’ll be down one member. We can still make do though. If Yoshizawa has as much combat experience as I think she does, she can more than make up for that. And in any case, there were only four of us originally going into Kamoshida’s Palace.

“As such, I don’t think it’ll be much of an issue, save for time. We should make getting through that place priority number one. He’ll be out of town from the thirteenth to the fifteenth, so if we can get a route secured by then, we can steal his heart the day he comes back. That way, no one gets hurt.”

“But he wasn’t absent then in my universe. Why will he be gone?” Haru asked.

“Apparently he had to be subbed in for a teacher’s conference at the last minute,” Akira replied. “I happened to overhear it get mentioned. I didn’t look into it beyond that.”

“We should,” Makoto said. “If it was last minute, it might have been for a legitimate reason, but it could also mean that someone else came back who might be trying to keep him safe from us.”

 _Fuck,_ Akira thought, but instead said. “We can look into it. Either way, he should be our first priority—he is the one most capable of doing damage on a short timescale. After that, we can decide the most effective way to take down the conspiracy. I was planning on leaving information gathering on that to Goro and Futaba.”

“We’ll find something,” Goro said. “My biggest concern is that, if we don’t locate the right keystone participants, taking Shido down might just cause the others to go into hiding and resurface later. He might be the head, but that doesn’t mean he’s the sole driver of the ideology. That said, with Futaba’s technical skill, I have no doubt that we can come up with a plan.”

“Good,” Akira said. “If you can, have some suggestions for us before the end of the month?” After Goro nodded, she continued. “I’m thinking that Morgan, Yoshizawa, and I should investigate Mementos further.”

“Why?” Haru asked. “Don’t we know that Jaldabaoth is at the bottom of it?” Akira saw Makoto start to mutter the name under her breath in confusion before stopping herself. _I guess her universe didn’t have to deal with that, huh. Lucky her._

“Jaldabaoth is still pulling the strings at the bottom of Mementos,” Akira supplied. Turning to Ryuji and Ann, she continued. “It’s a robot with delusions of godhood that tried to take over Japan. Either way, what’s concerning now is that it seems to have picked up a willing human helper. The train crash that happened yesterday was caused by this person. Goro, Morgan, and I ran into them last night. They’re fast, strong, they’re a Wild Card, and they wear a black mask.”

“So we need to figure out who they are and neutralise them?” Haru asked, sharing a brief glance with Makoto. “But if they wear the mask, and they feel no need to seek us out in the real world, it will be near impossible to target them.”

Akira nodded. Idly, she pulled one of the flowers near her—a violet, she noted offhandedly—and began to pluck at its petals. “Exactly. Which is why I think I should act as bait. Morgan still can potentially serve as one of our experts on the Metaverse, and I’m trusting Yoshizawa’s metaverse and combat experience to protect the group.”

“I’ll do my best, Aki-chan,” Yoshizawa said. “Oh also, if you’re comfortable with it, you can call me Sumire.”

“Dang, ‘Aki-chan’,” Ryuji said with a grin. “Reminds me of when you two had just started dating and were disgustingly affectionate.” He jabbed a thumb over to Goro, who just pinched the bridge of his nose. Akira, for her part, groaned into the palm of her hand. “. . . though I get that this isn’t something that you all necessarily want me to talk about,” he added hastily at the end.

“Okay, one last question, just so I’m not blindsided by anything,” Akira said. “How many universes are there where the two of us are together?” Ryuji and Goro both raised their hands, which she had expected. Beyond that though . . . “Sumire, Haru, I see that both of you are sort of shaking your hands in a ‘maybe’. What does that mean?”

“Well,” Sumire was the one who first began, blushing as she spoke. “You, myself, and him were what I believe is called a ‘throuple’.”

Haru siggled. “It’s a similar-ish story for me. The Thieves have sort of been an on-off polycule since that summer. He was somewhat involved in this during his tenure.” Where he sat, slightly out of her view, Goro raised an eyebrow in fascination, and Akira had to keep herself from giggling. “I didn’t really know how to categorise that, so . . .”

“Fair enough,” Akira said with a chuckle, and looked around the group. The knowledge of a plan, even if not a fully developed one, seemed to have inspired some confidence in people. Ann, meanwhile, seemed to be falling asleep where they sat, the exhaustion of their awakening taking its toll. “In the meanwhile though, we should probably call it. I’m sure today has been a lot for people, and tomorrow is our first infiltration as a group. Take care of yourselves, get some rest, and if you can swing by an airsoft store, get something for tomorrow. It’s gonna be a big one.”

***

Most of the group looked to be exhausted when they let out for the night, stepping out of the meadow with slow movements. Akechi had only blinked a few times at the group before taking off, while Ryuji had gone with Ann to make sure the drowsy girl had gotten home safely. Makoto had bid Haru a good evening (That was the sort of thing that a sensible woman would say to the woman she was interested in, yes? At least that was the image she was trying to create.) Akira, for her part, seemed to be mostly cognisant, waving everyone off. The woman seemed loath to leave the area, finding excuses to stay behind and share a few words with each person. Makoto watched for a moment, then left the street, turning a corner to get away from line of sight. She waited there, and breathed out a sigh. 

_She hasn’t tried anything,_ a part of Makoto said. _You’re being paranoid, the only thing wrong she’s done is consider Akechi an ally, which others are doing as well._

 _Correction,_ the rest of her shot back. _The only other people treating him as an ally are_ another _person who he’s dated and an amnesiac cat who could probably be convinced of anything. You need to know more._

She waited for another minute, breathing deeply, before she heard Akira speak. _God, she sounded just like Ren too._

“Almost thought you had to bail for a second,” Akira said, a warmth in her voice. 

_It’s a lie,_ Makoto told herself. _It’s designed to get you to lower your guard._

“Well, here I am,” the other voice was older, one Makoto didn’t recognise immediately but was undeniably familiar. “Now, can we talk?”

“Sure thing.” There was a ruffle of fabric. “We should probably head into the Metaverse before we talk about the Kamoshida situation, though.” The other voice hummed in assent, and Makoto blinked, adding the new information together. _Someone from Shujin, has a vested interest in Kamoshida . . . they might be the one to change his schedule. But that would mean._ It clicked in a moment, and Makoto peeked around the corner. Sure enough, there was Akira with Kawakami-sensei. Makoto only caught a glimpse before Akira fiddled with her phone, and the two disappeared into thin air. Makoto stared at the space for a moment before walking away.

_That confirms it, I suppose. Akira lies too._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: references to violence and death, emotional manipulation and lying, in particular a minor lies about being an adult to an adult (and is implied to be wanting the adult to be attracted to them), references to canonical abuse (Kamoshida).
> 
> This chapter is brought to you by our two sponsors: Ann being powerful, and Makoto having bad coping mechanisms.
> 
> Ann's new Persona, Diana, is the Roman goddess of hunting, archery, and the moon. She is also known as Artemis, and was known to have remained celibate all her life, though this came not from the modern understanding of asexuality, but rather due to refusing to act in subordination to men around her. Diana was a hunter, a patron of the rural world, and a protector of women. 
> 
> As always, I hope people enjoyed this chapter, and feedback is more than welcome.
> 
> Edit (10/27): Fixed some typos and grammar issues, and changed the pronouns used in Akira's section to refer to Ann consistently. While different characters may use different pronouns for Ann, I do want the ones used to be consistent during individual scenes from the current perspective character.


	14. Deciding in your youth on the policy of truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akira and Sadayo chat; Haru makes a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning can be found in the end of chapter notes.

"So this is the Metaverse," Sadayo said in breathless wonder as she surveyed the meadow in front of them. Her eyes seemed to shine with the sight, and she stepped forward, grasses and flowers brushing against her legs. "I had expected it to be more . . . dangerous looking."

"Most places are," Akira said, shielding her eyes from the sun, which was beginning to set above them, streaks and maroon and orange bathing the area. "This Palace is unique in that it's a safe haven. Goro for it for us."

"Uh-huh. And you're trusting him?"

"For the meanwhile," Akira said, shrugging as she did so. "I don't think he's interested in betraying us—at the very least, if he is, then he’s doing a very poor job at it. And in any case, we have higher priorities." She sat on one of the larger rocks, and patted the spot beside her. Beside her, Sadayo rolled her eyes before joining Akira, taking a moment to adjust her skirt before sitting. Akira, for her part, merely continued watching her wife with a soft smile on her face, attention moving from the soft brown hair that framed her face, the faint scar on her chin from a biking accident in her childhood, to the sparkling light in her eyes. There was the faint scent of old books about her.

"What?" Sadayo said, her voice light. 

"Nothing, just . . . it's strange," Akira said. "Seeing you like this again. Not bad, just different. I never really looked at you like this back in the day."

Sadayo let out a laugh. "Fair enough. It's certainly strange . . . I'm just happy that I don't have any grey hairs now."

"You mean silver," Akira mock-protested. "And besides, they gave you a dignified look."

"So you're saying that I wasn't dignified before then." Akira sputtered at the comment, noise eventually rising to a laugh. She glanced up and saw that Sadayo was grinning at her.

"God, I missed this," Akira said. "Only a few days but wow I missed this, missed spending time with my best friend."

Sadayo chuckled at that. "Darn, friendzoned again. But still, I agree. It's good to be around someone who I can truly be honest with."

"Same," Akira smiled, briefly leaning into Sadayo. Her warmth bled through their clothes, and Akira relished in the small moment before pulling away. "That said, we should probably talk about the serious stuff."

"Yeah," Sadayo said, quieter this time, as the reality of the situation intruded back upon them. As she said that, the same weight settled itself upon Akira. "That sounds good. So, Kamoshida—how's that looking?"

"We haven't started yet," Akira said. "We'll be heading in tomorrow, and each day until we have the route secured. Back the last time, it took until the fifteenth until we were actually operating as a group of four, none of whom were  _ really  _ that familiar with the Metaverse. This time, there are already four of us, we know what we're doing . . . okay, maybe not Ann, who actually is from this reality, but the rest of us are fairly confident. We also have double the members we had last time, so back line support shouldn't be a problem. So yeah. It took us three days to get through the Palace after the fifteenth last time. Beelining it this time, it should be fine."

"Good. That's good to hear," Sadayo said. "Even if I can't do the same things as you all, I’m going to help however I can.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Akira said. “Feeling up for making some lockpicks like the old days? That was a huge amount of help back in the day. Oh, speaking of which, what’s the situation with, well . . . everything?”

“Everything? Oh, right. It’s alright.” Sadayo shrugged it off for a moment, only to look over to Akira and sigh as her wife gave her an unwavering look. “It’s, well, it isn’t ideal,” she admitted as she slumped over. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this exhausted at any point in my life. It’s strange, right? Because I know I’ve already gotten through all of this. It’s just been so long since I’ve dealt with chronic exhaustion like this.” She paused. “You can probably guess that I’m having to deal with the Takases in this timeline. I’ve checked, and everything I’ve found seems to be identical to our universe. All the same jobs too.”

Akira frowned. “What’s our plan then? It took us a while to be able to get deep enough in Mementos to reach where their Shadows were. Maybe we could rely on Akechi’s status as the Detective Prince to get deeper than the Phantom Thieves initially can, though . . .”

“No,” Sadayo said, her voice firm, and Akira looked at her in confusion. “I shouldn’t be considered a priority. I’m being overworked, yes, but that’s nothing compared to what Kamoshida will do, and we both know that. Besides, I do have some personal funds saved up. I’m planning on scaling back and dipping into that until their hearts can be stolen.”

“You can’t just ask me to not try to help my . . .” Akira started, only to slump as well. “You’re right. I know you’re right. No offense, but I wish you weren’t.”

“I know.” Akira felt a hand settle itself on her shoulder and squeeze it. “You care so much for your family that it impairs your judgment.”

“What? No I don’t.”

Even without looking over, Akira could feel the unconvinced look her wife was giving her. “You really do. At the very least, you know how I think you do.”

Akira groaned and let her head fall into her hands. “Please tell me that we aren’t having this discussion right now. I know that we were planning on talking about it the morning we woke up here. But there’s too much going on. And if you’re choosing to self-sacrifice for this situation, please don’t get on my case for the same thing. Later, just . . . not right now.”

Sadayo was silent for the longest time, until she eventually let her hand trail down and drop off. “Okay. We can hold it off until after we deal with the Takases—that way there might be a bit less stress on our shoulders. Does that sound okay to you?” Akira nodded at the suggestion, feeling unsure as to what input she would even have at the suggestion. Honestly, in Akira’s ideal world, they would simply have set aside Akira’s focus on family over herself. At least they were avoiding the near-shouting that had come up the night before everything changed.  _ Nothing like the sheer gravity of alternate realities to bring a couple together.  _

“Thank you,” Akira whispered. “Before . . . before you ask, I haven’t heard anything from my contacts. Nothing about how we got here. Nothing about how we get home.” She could feel the tears beginning to spring forth.

“Do you . . . do you know anything about Goziyo?”

At the name of their daughter, something fundamental broke inside of Akira, and she sobbed, clutching at her arms and her mouth curling into a broken snarl. “No, I didn’t learn fuck all about Goziyo!” The moment the words passed her lips, she curled into herself, tears dripping down her chin. Further meaningless apologies and whines came forth from her, but she was unsure as to what exactly she was saying, only aware of the gasping in her lungs, the warm tears streaming down her face, and the gentle pull of her wife. It took a moment for Akira to realise what was happening, but then she let her wife shift her about, hugging them close together, her head on Sadayo’s shoulder. Distantly, she was aware of the head on her own shoulder. Something was dampening her coat . . . oh, Sadayo was crying too. The other woman was clutching her tightly, hiccuping quietly.

Akira was unsure exactly how long they stayed like that, echoing one another's mourning cries. Eventually, Akira managed to regain some semblance of control over her breathing, her lungs still aching, and she took a deep breath. Eventually, Akira managed to find her words again. 

“You know, last night, at like midnight, some sort of siren by a-ways from Leblanc. It wasn’t very loud, but it still woke me up. And it was kinda quiet, so it sounded like someone crying. And it made me think of when Goziyo has a nightmare and comes in to be with us.

“So I wake up right away. Just fully alert the moment the noise reaches my brain. And yet I don’t realise that I’m in Leblanc, so I’m looking around for Goziyo, and I just couldn’t find her. I started calling her name out, just trying to find her, and then I start going down the stairs. And that’s when I realise what’s happening, and I just break down sobbing.”

Akira could feel Sadayo begin to still and breathe more normally herself. After a moment, they split apart; Akira could see that her wife’s makeup had been smudged by her tears, and she pulled some tissues from her bag and began to clean her face with gentle, slow motions. As she worked, Sadayo hiccupped one last time before leaning into Akira’s touch. “That sounds like you, you know. I’m sorry to hear that. I keep thinking I see her,” she said, before reaching out and wiping Akira’s own tears away. Akira closed her eyes and embraced the motion. “Or I’ll hear a noise in my apartment and my first instinct is to think that she’s moving around.”

Akira nodded. “Yeah, it’s things like that. Just remember, this isn’t our fault. And as soon as we get the opportunity, we’re going home. Morgana showed up a month ago, so it looks like we all arrived piecemeal in this world. If that’s the case, we can probably leave in the same way. We’ll make sure the others can finish this, and then we both go home.”

“Okay,” Sadayo breathed out. “That sounds good. In the meantime, I guess we just keep things quiet, focus on teaching. If anything ends up coming up that we need to meet and discuss, we can do so in the Metaverse, I guess. That is how this works, right?” Akira nodded. “Good to know. It’s so . . . strange being here after hearing stories about it for decades. Oh, does this mean that I’ll be able to understand Morgana now?”

Akira let out a weak chuckle at the comment. “Actually, whatever universe he’s from was one where he was human, so you’ll be able to understand him just fine.”

“Darn.” They sat there for a moment, just letting the warm air drift over them. “I miss that cat,” Sadayo eventually muttered. “That’s definitely one thing that I don’t like about coming back. You get used to the new things that are in your life, you accept the things that have become absent from it too. Life changes, and so do we. And it feels like, just when the two of us were becoming settled in that new part of life, we’re ripped back to an old one. The wounds were just finished closing before they were opened again.”

“Yeah. That hit me hard when I first saw Sojiro again, and I just couldn’t help but think of his funeral. But Morgana . . . when we destroyed the Metaverse, he died, or at least we thought he did, for a good while. I’ve processed his death twice. Seeing him again just feels like seeing someone stuck in a revolving door. It loses its impact each time I witness it.”

“At least we won’t have to deal with it again. We’ll get home, and either time won’t have passed, in which case everything will be fine, or time will have, in which case things will be kinda scary, but Goziyo will just be with her grandparents while I guess we’re in a coma or something. It’s just going to be difficult for a while.”

“Right,” Akira said, not entirely sure whether or not she held the same optimism as her wife. Still, it was good to have someone around to counter her own tendency to catastrophise on matters. “One other thing—just remembered this—Makoto suspects that a member of the faculty travelled back as well due to the last minute switching of who is going to the conference. She’s afraid that it’s someone trying to protect Kamoshida.”

“Fuck.”

“Quite. I think it might be necessary to tell the others that you’ve come back in time.”

“I suppose,” Sadayo muttered, bringing a finger up to her chin as she thought. “I’d prefer not to if we can avoid it, though I agree we may have to. I’m just worried that if we tell them this, it just becomes a matter of time before they learn about our relationship.”

“Why would our relationship be . . . oh, right. I mean, if we preemptively explain the context of our relationship, then it  _ should  _ be fine, right? I would hope so, at least.”

“Hope, but don’t expect. I mean, I would have some reservations from their perspectives. I wouldn’t blame them, especially considering—it was Takamaki-chan that you said doesn’t remember, right?”

"Yeah," Akira said. "Either way, I'll avoid telling them as long as I can. Maybe explain bits of context to build up to it." She took a breath in. "I'm going to miss you."

"What are you talking about, you'll see me nearly every day?"

"Yeah," Akira said with a sigh. "But I'm still going to miss getting to spend time with you, little moments like this—I don't know about you, but I wasn't planning on acting on our relationship until we got home." Sadayo nodded in understanding; Akira imagined her wife had already come to the same conclusion. "I'm just going to miss actually being ourselves around one another."

"I get that," Sadayo said with a sad smile before looping her arm over Akira's shoulder and hugging her close. "But it's only for a little while. Like you said, once we can go home, we do. We can do this."

"Okay," Akira said. That was all she had the words for now, tears and truths and emotion exhausting her until all she could do was lean against her wife and watch the sun descend on the meadow, a small ember of hope warming her inside.

***

There was something disgusting about Shibuya’s central street, if one were to ask Haru. Throngs of people were trapped between two tall walls of advertisements and shining neon lights. A monument to the sins of the system men like her father had created over hundreds of years. A system that she had spent her entire life since her awakening attempting to dismantle. And yet there it was, and there she was going. If she was going to be helpful in the palace tomorrow, she certainly wasn’t going to go in empty-handed. And so she made her way to Untouchable, pulling out her phone on the way in the hope to learn a little bit more about her compatriots.

Direct Message

Haru: I have a question

Goro: I may have an answer

Haru: Funny

Haru: Anyways

Haru: Were you party to Shido’s actions? In your own world, that is.

Goro: Unfortunately, yes. I understand if that makes you reticent to work alongside me, but I promise you that I have no intentions of betraying the group. In my owl world I’ve been working with the Thieves since after Shido’s change of heart. I understand if you don’t believe me—I don’t expect to earn your trust immediately, if at all. Or your forgiveness, for that matter.

Haru: You didn’t kill my father

Haru: I killed the Goro who did. So I have no issue working with you. If you betray us, I’ll just kill you as well

Goro: okay

Goro: fair

Goro: terrifying, but fair

Goro: if I may ask one thing though, I’m planning on telling people when it makes sense—since it can be a somewhat emotional thing. Plus, with everything that’s going on

Haru frowned and leaned back in her seat on the train, thinking for a moment before responding.

Haru: alright.

Haru: but if I have any reason to think you’re trying to avoid the issue, I’m telling them

Goro: I completely understand

Haru: I must admit, you’re handling this in a much more mature fashion than I expected

Goro: I mean, I'm no longer an 18 year old twerp with a death wish. Perspective helps

Haru: fair enough, I suppose

Haru: oh, I was meaning to ask, what sort of work does a retired hitman do for a living

Goro: I work for a child welfare center here in Tokyo and do a lot of work pushing for systemic changes in how we handle child abuse, foster homes, and adoption

Haru: oh. I didn't expect that

Goro: well I mean, I don't want other kids to have to go through what I did

_ Oh.  _ She let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding, and leaned back. Over the PA, she heard the announcer call her step. She quickly typed out one last message before going on her way.

Haru: I think we'll get along just fine

  
  


She ended up beelining it through central street, reaching Untouchables in record time (not having to deal with the aches and pains of middle age was a blessing). Music was playing out of shitty speakers in the corner, and the scent of plastics hit her with the opening of the door. She gazed about, taking in the rows of airsoft and assorted gear. Behind the counter, Haru recognised the man as being the one from the underpass yesterday, flipping through a magazine.  _ He was one of Akira’s older associates back in the day, right?  _ He looked up from his reading material, saw her, and scowled. The sucker stuck in his mouth shifted about. “Listen kid, I don’t know how you find me here. But if you’re wanting to bully that other kid some more, you can just leave.”

“I’m sorry sir,” Haru began, clasping her hands behind her back, unsure of what exactly to say. “It really is just a coincidence that I’m here. That said, I would like to apologise for what my friend did. She has been going through quite a lot recently, but I didn’t expect her to lash out like that. That said, do you know where our friend went? I’ve been trying to reach out to him for the past few days and haven’t been able to get a hold of him. None of our friends have heard from him, for that matter.” Across from her, the man placed the magazine down on the counter and leaned forward, inspecting Haru as she would a contract, or a soldier might inspect an enemy emplacement. She remained still at the sight. Nothing to hide, after all.

After a moment, the man let out a huffed laugh. “Never see anyone your age that doesn’t get skittish. Hell’s your deal, girl?”

“Just looking to help with a friend,” Haru said, remaining calm. Maybe at one point someone like him would have seemed intimidating, but those days were a long time ago. After a moment, he backed off with a sigh, popping the sucker out of his mouth.

“Tell you what, you’re here to buy something, right? Tell me what it is, I’ll get it set up out here. Your friend is in the back. Hasn’t been keen on leaving. Before you go back there, though, we’re gonna talk.”

“Of course,” Haru said, keeping her voice light as always. “In the meanwhile, I was wondering if you had a replica Steyr GL 40. If you don’t have that, then maybe a H&K M320 or something similar.” Judging from the man’s reaction, he clearly hadn’t expected that. Haru merely smiled, and continued. “What was it you were going to ask about.”

The man just grumbled and got up, moving around the counter and stalked off to a corner filled with boxes of various airsoft rifles. “The kid,” he began as he leaned down to inspect one of the boxes. “He doesn’t have a place he can go home to, does he?”

Immediately, Haru dropped the smile and sighed. “No, I don’t think so. Well, there’s a physical place, but my understanding is that his guardian is abusive.”

“Damn it, should have known. The kid doesn’t talk much, but it’s obvious that something’s wrong with his home. He doesn’t like talking much, and he tries to avoid needing anything—the sort of way where you don’t want to get on people’s nerves because you’re scared of how they’ll react—but the suggestion of him going home was enough to rattle him. Something is clearly wrong, but he won’t tell me what it is.” He sighed, and as Haru walked around the corner she watched him rummage about. “You know anything more about this, kid? If you do, tell me, alright? I haven’t been able to find out anything about the kid, but if there’s anything that I can do, I should do, alright.”

“Of course,” Haru said. “Can I get that to you later by phone though? I want to have a chance to make sure I’m remembering everything.”

The man grunted in assent, finally pulling out one of the larger boxes.  _ Oh yay, he did have a Steyr . . .  _ “The store’s phone number will be on your receipt. Just call that when you have the time. Now go talk to him. Kid needs to see a friendly face, I think.” Haru simply nodded and moved to the back of the store, quickly typing out a message as she walked. 

Direct Message

Haru: I might call you later. I have some questions about how things work with taking care of abuse cases, and I will likely need your help with something

Goro: Sure? What’s going on?

Haru: I’ll let you know in a bit. TTYL

Without waiting for a response she silenced her phone and knocked on the back door. There was the sound of someone stumbling around, before the door opened, and Haru caught sight of Yusuke, looking frazzled, eyes wide.

“Hi,” she began, unsure of what to say. “Can we talk? Makoto isn’t here.” He looked at her for a long moment, then to the store’s owner, before nodding, and, with shaky movements, he guided her in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: referenced death, child abuse. A couple has an exchange which could be seen as a fight, and also have an emotional breakdown as they discuss separate instances of grief due to being in a separate universe than their child.
> 
> The name of Akira and Sadayo's daughter, Goziyo, is not an pre-existing name in Japanese, but was created for this story in particular to serve as a parallel to Goro--the 'Go' in their names is shared, and, like 'Ro' means 'son', so to does 'Ziyo' mean 'daughter', albeit normally with a different pronunciation (I would like to blame any mistakes made here on jisho.org). This references their shared history as children abandoned by their mothers for reasons out of both parties control.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading, and I always appreciate any feedback people wish to give.


	15. Precious and fragile things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Exarch goes for a walk, Haru gives Yusuke a reality check.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning can be found in the end of chapter notes.

The Exarch was resting for the afternoon when Dojima's Shadow knocked on her door. Training that morning had ended with her getting tossed about by Gabriel like a sack of potatoes, and so she had elected to rest. Thankfully, the cuts from the previous day hadn’t reopened, but she had decided not to further risk it. Curled into the corner, she had brought her blanket about her shoulders, pulled on her minimalist reading glasses, and propped open a book. Today she had chosen the novel  _ 813  _ by Maurice Leblanc. 

It was rare that she was granted leave to read fiction, useless for information as the medium was, but when the subject at hand was related to one or her Personae, permission was granted. She had only begun reading the night before, but already she could tell she would hate the protagonist. Lupin had the sheer bloody arrogance to call himself a 'mere peccadillo' in his first appearance, as though he had not murdered his mark in cold blood, and yet not after toying with him first. The archetype of a phantom thief was a man who entertained torture, whose rage hid only at the surface. It was an ill lot to cast oneself with. Perhaps it spoke to a social malady which plagued her foes.

She had raised an eyebrow on noticing how the novel's early Macguffin was noted as being made in Japan. An interesting coincidence, to be sure.

She had only just made it past the initial discussion of Arsène's murderous crime when the knock came on the door. With a huff she had looked up. "It's open," she called out, hoping that whatever matter it was would not take long. She had wanted to be able to spend more time on the novel—she read slowly, taking her time over unfamiliar words, and precious few moments to grant her indulgence. 

"You should get some sunlight," Dojima's Shadow said as he entered the Exarch's room. Within his arms he carried a handful of clothes, and she could see a bundle of yen rolled up on top. She imagined he'd likely scrounged such things from the other Shadows around the haven. It seemed to be his premier hobby beyond looking after her. Well, beyond complaining about how there didn’t seem to be any alcohol in Mementos. "Spending all your time in the dark and the cold isn't good for a growing person."

The Exarch frowned at the suggestion. "I suppose I could make some headway on a Palace for our Lord." In truth there were a handful of persons who needed to be pushed aside for His plans, support pillars holding up the dam which withheld His second flood. Those who would take up holy instruments for unholy deeds, as Lucifer had done at the Fall. Thieves and officials alike in their sin. She had already been too lax in her efforts to take down the Thief’s Shadow which had made its home in the pyramid, and had been chastened appropriately now that the Palace had collapsed and the Shadow was beyond them in a transitory state. She had no wish to face such righteous discipline once more.

"Wasn't quite the sorta sunlight I was thinking of," he said, setting the bundle of clothes down next to her on the bed. She looked over them—the pants, long-sleeved shirt, and the like were a different world entirely from the black and red robes she had been granted. "Regular human clothes," he explained. "Figured you could do well with a trip to your own world."

The Exarch scowled. Unbidden, the scent of rain came to mind. "Their world, you mean. The world where I lingered on death's door before He found me. I have little affection for it." The matter settled, she returned to her reading. The very notion of leaving the Metaverse felt sick in her stomach—she had only strayed briefly a few nights ago to retrieve the Crow's cellular telephone, and that had been a miserable enough experience. 

For Dojima, apparently, the matter was far from settled, for he sat on the edge of the bed and rapped his knuckles against the stone as a call to attention. "Do you remember that?" he asked. "How much of your time there do you remember?"

"None," she answered truthfully. "I know only that it granted me pain, the likes of which I have yet to re-encounter."

"Then don't you think you might be judging it harshly? I know it can be a painful place for you, and I don't judge you for that. But I know there is good in it too. Besides, you may need to go there sometime soon. Might as well go. Have a chance to acclimate without any further stress."

She opened her mouth to protest, paused, then closed it. Spent a moment thinking of rebuttals. Then with a huff she grabbed the clothes. "I'll do it," she said. "But I shan't be pleased about it."

"It's all I can ask."

She narrowed her eyes in suspicion. "Why are you so pleased with such a little victory?"

"Trust me, as a parent, you learn to accept the small wins that you think will lead into larger ones.” She gave him an odd look, and he waved it off. “What, you're not the first teenager I've dealt with, and with my daughter only being a few years younger than you, you're far from the last." He paused, and it felt as though he were about to say something else. Instead he merely sighed and straightened that red tie he always seemed to wear.  _ Though, I suppose Shadows don’t ever really change their outfits. _ "I'll wait for you outside, then," he said, and with that vanished from the room. She watched as he left, then, as the door slid shut, glanced down at her book and sighed. She'd barely gotten a few pages in.

"Some more on the morrow, perhaps," she decided. She lay the book on her desk and removed her reading glasses before changing. The jeans she had been provided scratched at her legs, but she put that out of her mind quickly enough. The shirt she had been provided was at least in her preferred colours, black and red flannel which fell to her wrists. She noticed that it hid the training scars on her arms after a moment. She thought with curiosity on it for a moment. Normally, she wore her overcoat, which rendered the matter of their visibility pointless. Now, though, she had a choice in the matter, and after a moment, she rolled the sleeves up to her elbows. If the marks were given in service, then she ought to feel proud of them. It was a strange sensation, to feel pride in herself, as opposed to the title she bore.  _ Do not feel in excess, of course,  _ she reminded herself.  _ In the pride of his face, the wicked do not seek him. _

She took a moment to pull her boots on, then took her leave. At the last moment before stepping out, she grabbed the money and her reading glasses—just in case—and perched them upon the placket, resting above the first button. 

As she expected, her guardian had planted himself on a nearby bench, eyes closed as he leaned back. The moment the door fell shut behind her; however, his eyes found themselves open, and he stood with a stretch. “The lumberjack look suits you,” the man said. 

“What’s a lumberjack?” she asked as she looked down at the vestments. 

“You’ve never read that word?” Dojima asked, and she shook her head. “Huh. Anyways, they’re people who cut down trees for a living.”

“And they dress like this?”

“It’s a Western stereotype that they do, at the least.” 

The Exarch hummed in response, adjusting one of her rolled up sleeves. “At least I don’t have to wear gloves with it." She looked down at her left hand as she said that, at the middle and rings fingers which stood bent compared to her others. They were errant since her first memories—when she had awoken in Mementos—and would always be so unsightly. They screamed when she wore gloves, forced into their proper positions to play their proper roles. A reminder, she supposed, He had meant to apply to herself as well. It was learned and kept as well as a fallible mortal could expect to keep. At least, she hoped so.

"I hate how he makes you wear those things," her guardian offered, and she shrugged. Most of his advice was too soft, but that hardly spoke ill of his character. "Never mind that," he continued with a wave of his hand, knowing this battle was likely lost. "Let's get going. I'll see you off to their world."

They made good time upwards through Mementos, avoiding the few Shadows which might have the audacity to strike at one of His representatives. The Exarch almost wished otherwise, as though through sheer misfortune this expedition would be delayed until morrow or the next. Yet still they rose through the layers with swiftness, taking all manner of shortcuts through the space, crannies that let them skip between tracks or service ladders that rose several floors.

"What even would I do in their world?" she asked as they progressed past an old cistern. The sound of water echoed across the space, and was joined in its endless bounding by her light voice. "There is little I could do to further our goals up there."

"Don't care much, to be honest," was his answer. "So long as it's what you choose it to be. You want to be productive, then maybe you can scout out a Thief or one of your targets. If you don't wish to be productive, I'm sure you could catch a film or something like that."

"Catch a film?" Despite the confusion which was evident in her voice, Dojima merely shrugged her off.

"The point is," he continued as though she hadn't spoken. "To do something purely of your own volition. Practice those critical thinking skills of yours." She scowled in his direction, but he only chuckled. "It'll be a good learning experience," he concluded, and apparently that was that, for they soon found themselves at one of the exits to Mementos.

"You'll wait for me here?" she asked as she made her way to the entrance, reaching out with her mind and brushing the threshold of the twin realities. 

"As long as I need to," came the reply. She didn't look back to acknowledge it; however, instead reaching out and piercing the point where the Metaverse intersected fully with the mundane world. The veil between them, once grasped, was fairly fragile, it took barely a hint of mental effort to slip between from the Metaverse and to the other world. Truly, anyone with enough experience to notice the full magnitude of the shift in reality could do this. Even lacking a Persona, the Exarch had possessed plenty enough experience to pass through.

She stumbled as she passed into  _ their  _ world, catching herself against a column as the world subtly shifted. She found herself in a near-empty subway station, a slight din coming to her ears. Gradually, she became aware of the sounds of a handful of people standing nearby. Without pause, she tucked herself behind a pillar, listening offhandedly to their meandering talk.

“Sorry I’m late,” one of them called out to the others with a young voice. “Wanted to get something from the vending machine.”

_ Is that the sort of thing I sound like?  _ the Exarch wondered before putting it past her. None of the voices sounded like anyone she would have recognised—though admittedly, the only voices she knew were of the three she had fought yesterday—and so she deigned to round the column. She came to face a small collection of teenagers, likely her own age, wearing the sorts of clothes that the Exarch imagined were probably some sort of academic uniform. She had read enough about how schools worked to know that they generally utilised such clothing.

They glanced over to her as she stepped into view, and one stepped forward. “Uh, hi there. How are you?” Judging by their voice, it was the one who had been late to join their compatriots. They held a can in their hand with an image of a lemon on it.

“Decent,” she answered, unsure of what else to reply with. Judging from the expressions on their faces, it was the wrong thing to say. The urge to escape rose within her, but before she could act upon it, their spokesperson spoke again.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you,” the person said. “It’s just that Yongen-jaya is a pretty quiet place. I didn’t recognise you—I was wondering if you were new around here? What’s your name?”

_ Bother me?  _ the Exarch wondered.  _ Oh, I’ve been acting in a malproper fashion! _

Despite herself, the Exarch forced herself to smile, ignoring how wrong it felt to do. “Oh, my apologies, you’ve far from drawn my ire. As for my name, call me Akira.” She had drawn from memory the first name she could think of, but as she said that, the person she was speaking too blushed furiously.  _ Was that something I said as well. Ugh, why must conversation be so tiresome?  _ “In any case, I must be going.” Before any of their group could raise protest, she began walking for the exit to the subway station. As she made her escape from the group, a few snippets of their conversation reached her.

“Wow, guess people from the country really are a bit strange.”

“Well I think she’s just shy.”

“Of course you’d say that, Rin.”

“W-what do you mean?”

“Just saying, all it takes is for a girl to let you use her given name and you’ll defend anything . . .” The person continued, but the Exarch was already beyond them, stepping out into the neighborhood beyond. 

The neighborhood—Yongen-jaya, supposedly—seemed to be a quiet place, given the low height of the buildings and the quiet din. It was something of a blessing, if she was being honest. Too much noise that she was unprepared for left her head ringing. Here, though, there were a handful of older people chattering amongst themselves, and the distant sound of cars. The sky above was the colour of dirty dishwater. 

“Excellent idea, Dojima,” the Exarch muttered to herself. “I’m certainly getting plenty of sunlight now.” She stood in the middle of the street for a long moment, just looking about, before taking her first steps down the street. If she was going to be wasting time in this place, then she would at least explore. 

The street seemed to mostly be composed of aging, small shops, a far cry from the ‘chains’ she had heard complaints of from Shadows. It . . . it wasn’t  _ terrible _ , if she had to be honest. It felt quaint, like something out of a half-remembered childhood. Or maybe the modern-equivalent of a book of folk tales, like the one she remembered reading a short while after her first waking in Mementos.  _ Or maybe you’re tired, and trying to think of things right now is going poorly. _

She was making her way down one of the side streets when the name of one of the establishments caught her eye.  _ Oh, this has to be a coincidence,  _ as she saw what was apparently a café, operating under the name of Leblanc. As in Maurice Leblanc, author of  _ 813\.  _ The novel which she had been reading early. A novel regarding the adventures of Arsène Lupin, who had served as Joker’s original Persona. 

_ This has to be a coincidence . . . unless it isn’t.  _ She frowned, staring at the shop.  _ This was also near the spot where I obtained Crow’s phone. Why would he be here if it hadn’t to do with the other Thieves.  _

It may have been a coincidence. But that was a risk which she refused to entertain.

The building’s front door was locked, but as she quickly discovered, there was a window on the building’s second floor which she was able to enter through, finding herself in a dirty room that seemed to be serving as someone’s room. A cluttered desk was shoved into one corner, opposite a disheveled mattress.  _ Hmm, I do suppose most beds have those.  _

There was a thin leather journal lying upon the desk; she picked it up and flipped it open. The first page had a light collection of notes written upon it. As she expected, and partially feared, there was a name written on the top of the page: Kurusu Akira. The Exarch tilted her head briefly at the name, though she supposed it made sense—Joker did go by that name at this point in her history, of course she would be sure to label her items as that to avoid suspicion. She took a moment to flip through the notebook and, finding nothing of value, she set it down on the desk again. She paused at the sight—had it been a few centimeters off from that spot? She examined the dust on the desk, and moved the journal with a nudge of her finger.

She was still unsure as to whether or not the book was in its correct position. _What should it matter?_ the Exarch thought. _It's not as though Joker is likely to recognise the difference in its location. It's only a small detail, only a diminutive distance off at most._ _Besides, even if she does notice, so what. That doesn't place you in this situation, only that_ something _occurred._

_ It would be gaslighting her, _ a part of the Exarch suggested.  _ So? You are planning her eventual murder. No ills done before death measure to that. _

_ But I need not be cruel before that moment. My service already endangers my immortal soul. Independent actions need not weigh upon that. _

_ Endangers? I murder. Even in the service of the Lord, I am destined for Hell. What does it matter the other sins I commit? _

She adjusted the book one last time, then, satisfied, she stepped away to inspect the rest of the room. The mattress was too soft to be comfortable, though the crates upon which it was perched shifted as she sat down. It seemed as though Joker too led a spartan life: beyond the journal and bed, the only thing of note she could see was an opened box which was placed upon a dilapidated sofa.

A curious part of her being wished to look inside. For a moment, she resisted, but then it won out. Inside of the box was clothing of all sorts. The Exarch was cautious in her movements of it, careful to keep placements in her mind as she peeled back layers of contents. Near the bottom she discovered a simple black hoodie which she pulled out fully. The thing was old, and despite being washed the Exarch could make out numerous echoes of stains. It was soft to the touch, softer than any clothes which she could remember. Before she could fully process what she was doing, she had pulled the hoodie on. It was warmer than she expected, and large enough that she was able to bundle herself in it.

_ Why are you doing that? That is decidedly not reconnaissance,  _ a part of her said. She ignores it in favor of continuing to enjoy the warmth. It was rare that she experienced warmth that didn't evolve into pain from burns.  _ That's why I'm doing this,  _ she lied to herself.  _ I just want to know what this sort of warmth feels like. _

She was unsure of how long she sat there, buoyed in the pleasant sensation that brought to mind a mother's hug. The moment the thought crossed her mind, she felt something build in her eyes, and before she realised what was happening, tears fell upon her cheeks. She looked up, as though the source would be above her, only to find nothing save for the wall. Then they came from . . . her hand drifted to her own eyes, and wiped away the tears.

_ How pathetic, to lack such control over yourself.  _

_ Shut up shut up  _ “Shut up,” she whimpered, folding upon herself. In the privacy of the attic, she let herself cry, let herself shrink inward.

_ What is different in this place? What grants it such an impact upon you?  _ She wracked her brain, trying to determine the truth of the matter. It refused to come to her and she groaned, smacking her cheek as she tried to scrounge up an answer.  _ How is it that you seem to be intelligent half of the time and yet you can’t answer a simple question? _ She clenched her hands against her head, trying to drive the question out. As it faded away, she was met with silence. She breathed out, ignoring the dull ache which pressed against her mind. As it faded, she was left with nothing else. Only the quiet and solitude.

“I’m alone,”she said aloud, and only as she said it did she realise just how true it was. She was never alone—even sequestered within her own room, near every being could sense where she was and a vague idea of what she was doing. Even traversing the outskirts of Mementos, she could be found easily enough by Him or one of the more powerful Shadows. 

The human world, though, was different. She knew that, in modern days, His ability to sense was substantially deadened. Even if He focused on her, the best which could be derived was a general idea as to her location. It was the closest she had to true privacy.

The thought made her heart pause. It felt empty, yet . . . good. The words necessary to describe the sensation in her chest escaped her. She chased it, an annoyance growing within her as she tried and tried to grasp her emotions, only to fail again and again. The urge to scream rose within her, and as it reached its zenith she balled her fists in the hoodie’s sleeves and wrapped it around herself.

She breathed in deeply before letting it out.  _ You can find the word later,  _ the Exarch thought, preemptively quieting the part of herself which wanted to mock her.  _ You have the time to do so. _ With a sigh, she leaned back against the wall, ignoring the pain which came from the cuts in her back, still healing from the other day.

_ You ought to leave. There’s little to do here, and you’ve already exhausted it. There are other things which you can do. _

As she rose, she heard a sound from below; a bell. For a moment, she tilted her head in confusion, and then the sound of footsteps echoed up to her. Fear gripped her without mercy, and as swiftly as she could, the Exarch stuffed the cardboard box back where she’d found it and crossed the room, darting out the window. For a moment she scrambled to close the window behind her, and then she leapt to the ground below and slipped away.

She had yet to realise she was still wearing the hoodie.

***

“You’re here,” Yusuke said dumbly, stepping back to make room for her in the cramped backroom. He looked about for a moment and found a second chair from the one he had been using and pulled it about for her.

“I am,” Haru said, dusting off the seat before taking it. Yusuke sat as well, leaning back against the desk he’d spent the afternoon seated at, the barrels for airsoft guns he’d been cleaning strewn across the surface. “So, this is where you went.” There was an edge to her voice.  _ But why— _ “And how exactly do you know you can trust this man?”  _ Ah, of course. I should have realised it would be from concern.  _

“At first, I didn’t know,” Yusuke said, letting his voice drop, not wanting Iwai to overhear him. “I just knew that I couldn’t bring myself to go back to Madarame. Then I learned who he was—I’d never met Iwai-san in person before, but his son, Kaoru, was a member of the Thieves in my timeline. It was only then that I decided to actually stay.”

“. . . okay,” Haru said slowly, steepling her hands and remaining there for a moment, clearly losing herself in thought. Yusuke let her, taking the moment to close his eyes and briefly drift. 

Exhaustion had been building in him over the past few days, and whenever he figured he was alone in the store, he would try to get some sleep. Iwai had let him stay the night, which he had deeply appreciated. A few times, the man would step out—generally to get food for the both of them—and Yusuke would permit himself a few minutes of rest. He refused to do so while the man was present, though. He knew that the man was taking a risk bringing him in, and he refused to give any reason for him to throw Yusuke out. If he kept being useful, Iwai wouldn’t send him—

“What’s your long term plan, then?” Haru asked. Her voice never rose above the low, calm tone she had used earlier.

“I—” he started, only to falter. “I truly do not know. My vision did not extend that far.”

“Alright. Then how long are you hoping to stay here?”

“For as long as he will allow,” Yusuke said. He regretted it as soon as he spoke—even he knew how naïve that sounded.

“And what about when Madarame files a missing persons report? Taking care of someone isn’t a crime, but not trying to return a child to their guardian? And considering Madarame’s influence—if he was feeling vindictive, it could mean jail time for Iwai. And I know that’s not what either of us wants.”

“No, we don’t,” Yusuke sighed and placed his head in his hands. “I just don’t know what to do. I know I can’t go back to him. If I went back to Kosei, they would just let Madarame know that I was there. I didn’t know what I could do. What I  _ should  _ do. And this was the only place that felt safe.” Haru made a quiet noise which he couldn’t quite place, and then he felt her hand come to rest on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. It brought a calm with it, and he let out a deep breath. 

“We’ll find a way to deal with this, alright?” Haru said. “We aren’t going to let you go back to Madarame. Not me, not Iwai, not the other Thieves. Just give us some time to make a plan." He nodded along. "And don't be a stranger—I'm not going to defend what Makoto did, but I know she's regretful of it. The others are concerned for you too. Is . . . is it alright if I tell them where you are?"

"That is acceptable," he decided after a moment. "Tell them I'm not going to turning on my phone. I've learned enough from Futaba to know that doing so will make me trackable." Haru chuckled at that. "As for Makoto . . . it's not from you that I wish to hear an apology."

"Yeah, that's fair," Haru said with an exhale. She seemed only a hair less tense than when she had first entered the room, now taking a moment to let her eyes wander about the cluttered space. "So, this is where you've been hiding out. It . . . it suits you, yet at the same time it doesn't. I hope that makes sense."

"It's certainly not what I would have imagined to be my first choice. That said, the work that is done here, while certainly of a different medium, certainly has an artistic brush. The dedication to shaping tools for an aesthetic purpose, the blend of at times realistic and at times fantastical . . . it's something which I could learn from."

She smiled. "That does sound like you."

"Well, I'm eager to learn. Overall I'm attempting to be less . . . zealous, I suppose, when it comes to my purviews of artistic merit."

"Oh? Tell me about it." 

And so he did, going on for the better part of the next hour, going over some of the pieces, the way some of the skins Iwai had created for them satirized the original intent of the weapons (even if the man himself had merely said 'they're gunny's when describing them. Intent may not have been present, but the author was dead and Yusuke was allowed to do whatever the hell he wanted). Haru followed with interest, often bringing up points he had never considered. In exchange, she spoke of the other Thieves, of the differences between their memories and their present versions. Mentioned how Akechi seemed to be working with them from the start, how Makoto clearly didn’t trust him, and how Haru herself felt torn on the matter. 

In seemingly no time at all, Iwai knocked on the door and poked his head in. “Hey kids, it’s about time to call it.” To Haru, he added. “Your purchase is on the counter. Come on up when you’re done.”

“I’ll be sure to,” Haru said, voice light. The man nodded and left with a grunt. “Well, I suppose that I should be going, then. I’ll make some enquiries as to your situation in the meanwhile. I suppose you’ll still be here?”

“If I can be,” Yusuke offered. “If not. Well . . . if not, I’ll let you know.” With that said, he rose and stretched, feeling his joints pop as he did so. It felt good to stretch, despite how cramped the room was in general. A yawn threatened to pull itself from him, and he hastily stifled it.

“Tired, hm? I don’t blame you—I think that we’re all exhausted right now. It will be good when all of this is done, won’t it?”

“I suppose so,” Yusuke said. He knew not what else he would say.

The sun had already set when Haru left, lugging a box nearly her size with her. Iwai watched as she left, before turning to Yusuke. “So, are all of your friends as . . . eclectic?”

“They can be.”

Iwai was silent for a long moment, then muttered a ‘uh-huh’ and shrugged before beginning to pack up for the night. Yusuke joined, doing some light sweeping, before the man spoke again. “Uh, hey kid. I wanted to thank you for being a huge help around here. Even after all of . . . whatever you’re dealing with blows over, it could always be nice to have a helping hand around here. Also, ‘n I want to make it clear you’re welcome to say no, but I’m sure my son would love to chat with you. If you do need a place to stay, you have a place here.”

“Thank you,” Yusuke said, letting out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. “If it’s alright, I might take you up on that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: child abuse (Jaldy's abuse of the Exarch), panic attacks.
> 
> Going forward, I think I'm going to be taking a longer amount of time between chapters, as they're likely to be longer and more involved going forward. For this one alone I actually began reading the novel 813, which I can so far strongly recommend. The Exarch's interpretation of the novel is one I worked on developing as the novel progressed, albeit an interpretation that is as uncharitable as possible. The decision to choose that particular one of the Arsène Lupin novels was made very deliberately for a number of reasons, so if you want to get a hint of what might be coming in the future of this story, or just want to read an old novel, you can find an English translation of the novel on Project Gutenberg's website for free.
> 
> Next time we will be entering Kamoshida's palace, which I'm very excited for. As always, I hope that everyone enjoyed this chapter, and any feedback or criticism is very much welcomed.


	16. Danse Macabre Animée

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Phantom Thieves go on their first infiltration in the new timeline.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning can be found in the end of chapter notes.

"You look like a bear that just got shot in the ass." Ann had said to Akira when classes were over for the day. Akira, for her part, stared back at them silently, taking off her glasses to fully show the eyes bags which they had concealed. Her friend flinched at the sight. "That is to say, you look tired. And grumpy. Is everything . . . alright?"

“Had trouble falling asleep,” she answered truthfully, not bothering to go into detail about how she’d accidentally fallen off of the ‘bed’ multiple times in her sleep while, colder than she remembered, she had tossed about trying to find her wife.  _ Maybe I should invest in a body pillow so I can go to sleep holding something and just ignore the issue entirely.  _

“Sorry to hear that,” Ann said, voice sympathetic. “I also had issues last night. Everything that you all told me, it was just . . .”

“Too much?” Akira said with a chuckle. “I get that. There were days back my first time around when fear and confusion could keep me up despite how exhausted I was. Not even Morgana could get me to bed those nights.”

“Morgana . . .?”

“Oh, right. You remember Morgan from yesterday, right? The hobo with the yellow scarf? In my universe, he was a cat named Morgana. And since he didn’t have anywhere to stay, he ended up being my roommate. Little bastard was very insistent that I have a proper sleep schedule.” The description seemed to amuse Ann, who cupped their cheeks and cooed about how adorable it must have been. Akira, for her part, just chuckled at the suggestion and rose to her feet. Students were already pouring out of the room, eager to get to their clubs or home for the day. A few lingered to talk to one another, and Akira could hear the old rumours spilling forth from them once more. Same baseless fear and paranoia thrown against her, same putrid and baseless accusations hurled toward Ann.  _ Ah, the high school gossip mill. How little I’ve missed you . . . _ She put them out of her mind and began walking out of the room; Ann quickly joined her in lockstep.

“So, that . . . Palace. Today’s the day, isn’t it?” Ann asked as they began moving down the stairwell.

Akira nodded. “If you need to take a step back though, no one will blame you.”

Ann shook their head. “We both know I’m not going to do that, not considering what’s at stake.”

“Suzui-chan means a lot to you, doesn’t she?”

Ann nodded, and gestured for them to stop in the stairwell. Akira abided, leaning back against the rail as she watched Ann collect their thoughts.

“My folks raised me until they figured I could take care of myself, and then they started crisscrossing the globe for their work. They didn’t let me follow. Ryuji was briefly a friend in middle school before we all parted ways. Shiho, through it all, was the only person I held a connection to without it breaking. Without feeling like she was going to leave. She’s my world. And yes, I do know how that sounds, and I do mean it in  _ that  _ way too.

“So if there’s something that is threatening her, I’m not going to leave her like a duck on the edge of a cliff. It would be anathema to myself. I imagine you can understand that.” Akira nodded, unsure of what to say. Instead, Ann continued. “I don’t understand how exactly all of this works, obviously. I’m trusting you all to show me how to do this. But I am going to keep her safe, whatever that means.”

"That's good," Akira said, reaching over and patting Ann's shoulder. "That determination, it really helps when you're in there. I think you'll do fine." Truly, Ann did look strong, stronger than what Akira remembered. Though maybe they'd always been like this, and Akira had failed to recognise it her first time through. Ann had always been empathetic and willing to bear the weight of others, especially their friends. Now possessing the chance to protect someone they cared for, rather than getting just for them . . . it was like seeing an entirely different person. Not to say that it was an unwelcome sight, as any Ann was a good person to have around in Akira's book.

"Well, I guess we'll have to find out, won't we," Ann settled the matter. Despite that, they seemed to be holding a lighter weight on their shoulder than before. "At least I'm not the only one new to the magical st—speak of the devil," they broke off as Ryuji entered their line of sight, taking the steps slowly. Akira blinked in surprise at the sight of him wearing the school's uniform properly, all buttoned up and without a hint of paraphernalia in sight. "Hey there," Ann called out, waving their friend over. "Oh, umm, this might be an insensitive question, and I apologise if it is, but have you always had that?" They gestured to his hand, and Akira looked to see that he was carrying a cane as well.

"It was in the bedroom closet," Ryuji answered. "The other me probably used it for physical therapy and then planned on not touching it again, but I'm not used to how this leg works and how much it hurts. My other self's mom, I guess my mom too, heard me complaining and suggested I use it again. Gotta say, it's been real helpful."

“Glad to hear it,” Akira said, taking one last glance across her friends, and then they made their way down to Shujin’s entrance. The others were waiting for them at the entrance, all collected against the wall. In the corner of the group, Haru and Goro were quietly discussing something. Makoto and Sumire were standing a short distance off, speaking amongst themselves in clipped sentences. As the three approached, Haru tapped Goro on the shoulder and he looked over, pushing off the side of the wall he’d been leaning on.

“We ready?” Goro asked as they came close. Akira nodded, and the group made their way into the alleyway, Makoto hurrying to the front to guide them in. Once the group was well hidden from the eyelines of the outside world, Akira pulled out her phone. Kamoshida, the teacher at Shujin Academy. Shujin Academy itself. Castle. Around them, the world shimmered, and the group paused. For a moment they all stood there, embracing the distortions, and then the world stilled once more. Akira glanced around and set aside her phone.

“Welcome to the Metaverse, everyone,” Akira said. “Before we go in, there’s one last thing that I want to talk about for Ann and Ryuji’s sakes. Because we'll be going into Kamoshida's own mind, we use codenames while in a Palace. Historically we've based these names after our outfits as Thieves, but in this case a number of us will be operating without Personas for a while. Hopefully not too long, but we still ought to decide them now. Round the circle, just pick something for now. We can alter them later if we want. I'll keep Joker."

Next to her, Goro continued. "Shrike."

"Not Crow?" Makoto sniped back.

"Not Crow," Goro answered. "That name has had memories for me. I'll stick with Shrike."

"Alright then. Well, I'll be sticking with Queen."

"I suppose I'll stick with Spectre, then."

"Spectre?" Akira asked. "Not Noir?"

"If Noir was the name I went by in your world, then that must be another difference between them," came Haru's reply. 

With that decided, Ann was next, who glanced around for a moment before answering. "Artemis was the goddess of hunting, right? In that case, I'll go with Huntress."

"A good fit, Ann," Morgan said. "For myself, I'll go with Mona." From where she stood, Akira could see both Ryuji and Goro raise their eyebrows at the name. She resolved to ask them later about it, and returned her attention to Ryuji, who spoke next. 

"Maestro, pure and simple."

"Oh, I suppose that just leaves me," Sumire commented. "I'll take Rogue."

"Good to get that settled," Akira said, and gestured for the others to follow her. "As we go, those who haven't awoken to their Personae yet, stay back. Anyone who doesn't have a firearm, those of us who have awoken will trade off theirs—Goro and I have three together and I see Haru brought her own so you should be good. Just stay behind us and take potshots when you have an opportunity. Don't do anything too dangerous, and let us know if you need to retreat. We’ll be keeping to a fast pace, though—keep that in mind.” That said, the infiltration began.

It alarmed Akira just how quickly this Kamoshida’s Palace had diverged from her own. The outside was the same, and the interior was still done in Baroque style, but the guards wore the armor of the King’s musketeers, rather than plate armour which had been several centuries out of date. They moved lithely, darting forward with unexpected grace to reach the Thieves when spotting them. Within their skins at least were similar monsters, and the group tore through them with ease—only sparing a handful which either she or Goro recruited to their sides.

That almost gave Akira a sense of reassurance, had it not been immediately and completely undercut by the fact that the architecture was slightly, but perceptibly, different from what she remembered. Admittedly, it had been years since she had been in this place, but she was fairly certain that the layout was altered from her memories, rooms shifted, hallways longer. 

Still, they made good progress. Despite the differences, everyone had good instincts, and some of the additions or changes benefited them: the horseback riders in the palace were weak to ice, and so Morgan was able to decimate them, while Haru’s grenade launcher often destroyed packs of flying foes the moment she saw them. The few foes that others couldn’t handle were ripped apart by Ann’s chain-whip or Artemis’ curse attacks. Ann themself was performing admirably, keeping up with the conceptual discussions, and was a quick study with their weapon and Persona, jumping between them both with frequency and precision.

The group collapsed in a safe room after about an hour, and Akira knelt on the floor and closed her eyes behind the cloth to better reach out with her new form of sight. Underneath the surface of the Palace, invisible to sight, were bloody veins alike to those in Mementos. They pulsed violently, increasing in strength the further they went into the heart of the Palace—the closer, in theory, they came to the treasure. She frowned at the heartbeat, timing out the intervals. Eventually, she stood.

“If I had to hazard a guess,” Akira said to the group. “We’re a third of the way through. I think, at least. I’m still getting used to how this navigator thing works.”

“You’re doing fine. As much as I'm loathe to say it, I struggled with navigating when I first began," Goro said.

"Regardless," Makoto cut in, leaning forward. "That means we're well on pace to get through this palace, even assuming it gets more difficult. Huntress, how are you holding up?"

"Tired," the blond answered from where they sat, clad in black and purple clothes, a cloak similar to Akira's own hanging over their shoulders. A number of tool pouches were strapped to their waist, from which also hung their new chain-whip and a quiver for the bow Artemis had apparently granted them as their ranged weapon. "Not to the point where I need to head back," Ann further clarified. "But this has certainly been a good work-out."

"Just make sure you don't overexert yourself. Pushing too far can do more harm than good," Sumire added in, glancing over a map the group had obtained during their voyage. "It looks like there's a large room down the hallway we're off of. If I'm reading this right, then the stairwell up to the next floor is just past there."

"That would make a good point to get past," Goro suggested, leaning forward over the table and folding his arms. "Secure ourselves a place on the second floor to advance from tomorrow."

"Too risky," Makoto cut in. "If this room is the only way we can move forward, and it's built like that, we'll likely find heavy resistance there. I understand that you may not be concerned about the well-being of the rest of the group, but I can't take that risk."

"If I had any doubts about the chances of  _ our  _ friends, I wouldn't have suggested the idea," Goro sniped back. "Though if you'd pull your head out of the sand for a moment you'd have realised that already."

"Funny words coming from a loathsome cretin like—"

"Queen, Shrike!" Akira cut in, glaring between them both as best she could underneath her blindfold. She could feel both shift at least, both leaning back after some time. "I understand that we're all a little on edge, but we have bigger things to worry about right now. Shrike, do you have another Goho-M on you?" The man responded by tugging the object out of his pocket and tossing it over to Akira, who tucked it into her bandolier. "We have our way out, then. If things get hairy. Now, everyone ready?” Nods came from all about the group. Makoto looked like she was about to say something, before muttering her own agreement.  _ Thank God, I do not have the time for this. _ “Right everyone, get moving then. Daylight’s burning.”

The room in question was a wide open space without furnishings save for on the borders. The ceiling was high, and light streamed in from windows, dancing across the space. In the center of the room, the floor was checkered, twelve squares by twelve squares/ Akira looked around with her sight, finding doors on each of the walls, all shut and barred. Behind those on her left and right, she could sense Shadows, how many, she couldn’t tell. Likewise, there was something under the floor. She reached out with her mind and felt the sensation of noise, the sensation of rigid order in movement. “Hey Huntress?”

“Yeah?”

“Does Kamoshida in this world have some sort of obsession with order? A feeling like people need to act in a certain way, or anything like that.”

“He’s pretty obsessive that people follow the rules, yeah,” they answered her. “It’s another way he likes to lord power over the students. On top of everything else we’ve seen here.”

Akira sighed. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I miss the days when his palace was just reinforcing the fact that he was a pervert. There’s something under the floor here. Whatever it is, it’s likely to be necessary to progress.”

“Then we’ve nothing to gain from staying here,” Goro said, and took several steps forward, intruding into the checkerboard. 

The moment his foot landed on one of the tiles, a great noise filled the air, notes following one another in discordant fury which pierced the Thieve’s ears and drove them back. Akira clutched her head at the noise, willing the pain to subside. Thankfully, after a moment the cacophony dimmed, though it refused to leave them at peace. 

“Gahh, what is this?” Makoto groaned as she slowly lowered her hands. Across the group, they were looking about the room, trying to find the source of the noise. “Thanks for that, you know,” she said to Goro. “I’m really enjoying this noise.”

“Oh, I’m sure your plan was better,” Goro muttered, while he rubbed at his forehead in pain.

“Regardless, we still have another clue,” Sumire added. “Though I’ll admit I’m unsure as to what this noise means.”

“Hmm,” Makoto wondered aloud, tapping her chin as she thought. “I suppose this could mean—who’s humming?”

“Sorry, that was me,” Ryuji piped up from the back. “I was just thinking . . . I’m pretty sure I heard something else when Shrike stepped onto the floor there, there was another piece to the noise. It cut out the moment he took his feet off the tile, it stopped. Do you mind if I—?” Ryuji kept speaking while he pushed his way to the front of the group, and with hesitant steps, pushed into the room. Akira listened attentively as he placed his foot down. Another noise came through—the same one which Akira had heard at the start of the cacophony, she realised. It was easier to notice it now that the noises had moved on. “Yeah,” Ryuji muttered softly. “Serialism. It’s using serialism.”

“Mind cluing us in to what you mean?” Goro piped up.

“Uh, yeah, serialism is a musical concept. Thanks, Arnold Schoenberg. Each note gets played once in a set before a new set is played, which is a variation of the same pattern. It uses a twelve-tone matrix, twelve notes by twelve notes. And uh, look at the floor. Twelve by twelve.” He took a few steps to the left, and another note played as he transferred from tile to tile. At the change, Ryuji paused, then changed direction, stepping across tile after tile. And then, he returned to the original tile.

“Damn that’s messed up,” he mumbled as he approached the group. “To take art and make it a way to force people to move in the directions you demand . . . Uh, I figured it out. It’s a dance, probably a waltz, though I imagine the specifics aren’t hugely important.”

“A dance?” Akira asked.  _ Yeah, this is a bit of a difference. God I hate this. _

“I figure. Say, I don’t suppose anyone else here would know how to do a more traditional dance? Like I said, probably a waltz?” An uncomfortable silence took hold of the group before Sumire raised her hand.   
“I mean, I haven’t exactly, but I imagine some of the skills from gymnastics must be applicable. Unless anyone has any objections . . .”

After silence once again filled the space, Ryuji shrugged. “Looks like we’re up, then, Rogue.”

“Sure thing, Maestro,” she said. “You might need to lead, though.” Having said that, she glanced over to Akira. “Any issues if we go ahead and do this?”

“I’m fairly certain there are Shadows waiting in the wings,” Akira said. “Those of us not dancing, get ready to defend them. If this is anything like the other things I remember from the other Palaces, there will be something which tries to stop us.”

“We’ll also likely not be able to go onto the checkerboard,” Goro added. “Otherwise it will disrupt the replication of the tune. So be careful to operate on the margins.”

With that said, they sprung into action.

Akira watched for a moment as Sumire took Ryuji’s hand, and then shifted her attention to the leftmost gate. The moment the both of them stepped onto the checkerboard-patterned floor, the doors on the left and the right were thrown open. Not long after that, a few pixies began drifting through, making a beeline towards where the two were dancing. Akira didn’t hesitate, letting her pistol bark out loudly as it tore through fae after fae. Beside her, Morgan and Makoto were striking on their own, Makoto hanging back while Morgan flooded the door with ice, shutting it for a moment while the Shadows tried to bash it down. On the other side of the room, Akira could hear Goro shouting at the Shadows that were approaching him, something about how they were pathetic scraps.

“Shrike is certainly showing his colours,” Makoto grumbled.

“I’m just glad he’s having fun,” Akira said. She aimed once more, fired. A pixie that had slipped through the cracks screamed. “We all need our hobbies.”

Makoto’s revolver called out twice. “Is that what we’re calling it these days?”

“Is that what we’re calling what?” Morgan asked as he applied more ice to the barrier. The hairline fractures which had begun to appear were swallowed up by the new portions. “I’ve been meaning to ask, what  _ is  _ Shrike’s deal?” 

“Good question,” Akira replied as she flipped personae and threw out some lightning through the slight gap. It took only a second before the smashing on the other side resumed. “It’d take a while to explain. Maybe once we’re done here?”

“Sounds good,” Morgan called back, only to cry out as an attack broke through the icy wall and crashed into him, sending Morgan down to the ground. Akira glanced down to pull him back to his feet, but then the doorway exploded open, an enormous armoured foe charging forward. Immediately, Akira let electricity arc from her fingertips, stabbing into the things knees and forcing it to the ground, but already it was flailing its weapon about, catching her in the shoulder and forcing Makoto back. Akira gulped—judging from the rising volume of Goro’s shrieks, it sounded like things weren’t going well on the other side either.

“Maestro!” She called out as she put herself between Makoto and the Shadow, parrying another stab of its spear with her dagger, flipping it about and swinging it to buy herself some space. “How are we looking?”

“Dunno!” Ryuji called back, panic clear in his voice. “Not like I’m able to tell when this’s ‘sposed to end!” Akira grunted a response, but immediately returned her attention to the Shadow, who was once again bringing the spear to bear against her. Too late to dodge the strike, she braced with Völundr, the metallic spider bringing its limbs around to cocoon her against the mass of steel. The blow still knocked her back, pain spreading through her body and her breath drawn out with force. Her defense faltered in that moment, Völundr flickering and disappearing in a single instant. A long enough time for the spear to return, slicing through her temple. She fell to her knee, clutching her forehead as blood poured forth, throwing a blind wave of fire toward her foe. It caught them, judging from the scream, and then Akira watched as Morgan climbed the figure with swift movements before forcing his clawed hand into the gasps in the Shadow’s helmet, digging around with his talons as the thing screamed. The noise only lasted a moment before the thing collapsed, dissipating as all Shadows did.

Already, though, its replacements were streaming forward, slowed only by Makoto’s gunshots. On the other side, she could hear Ann swear, and Akira looked over to see them get knocked down by a blessed strike from a Shadow. Before the Shadow could capitalise on that, though, Goro and Haru turned and struck it down, backs turning for a brief moment to the door. And in that moment another armoured Shadow came through their own door, seizing Haru in its grip and slamming her into the wall. 

She crumpled to the ground.

For a moment, Akira could have sworn that the roar which came from behind her was that of an animal. Then Makoto began to run past her, towards their fallen friend, eyes wide in fear.

“Queen, no!” Akira grabbed Makoto’s arm. “We can’t reset everything. Not this far in.”

“But she’ll die!”

“Goro’s looking after her,” Akira said. “We need you on this side.” For a moment, something indecipherable passed across Makoto’s face, and Akira’s face fell. “I know it’s difficult. I’m sorry.” Then Makoto was already running towards their fallen friend. At least she kept to the outside of the room.

_ No time to go after her,  _ Akira thought, and with that she pulled herself up, continuing the fight on their own end. Immediately, though, it was obvious from the deluge of Shadows coming in. She and Morgan wouldn’t be able to hold them back.

***

The woman rose from the water, a scream ripping from her throat and echoing across the still water. It took a moment for her to stagger onto her feet. Spanning the world about her was a plane of water, disappearing into the horizon. There was light from . . . somewhere. She glanced about, trying to find it, but was unable to pinpoint the source. It certainly wasn't from beneath her, as the water was an inky-black depth, resolutely withstanding the illumination. There was something down there, the woman could tell, but as to its nature and figure she could not determine. 

She stared at the formless thing, willing her eyes to adjust to the darkness, when a cry pierced forth. Her eyes shot to the source, and saw two birds sitting reversed on the other side of the water, as though she were the one beneath its surface. Mayhaps she was. She followed the line of where they were and found a rough hewn tower of stones at the same location's mirror. There were dozens of identical cairns spaced about the water, stretching to the horizon themselves.  _ Have they always been here? _ She couldn't recall.

She stepped towards the closest cairn, which was strewn in fabrics of wisteria and bone white. They fluttered despite the stillness of the air. She raised her hand and pressed it to the stone's surface. It felt warm to the touch, and soft, as though it might give should she push forward. She dare not do that. Instead she closed her eyes and leaned forward. Unbidden, the words came forward into her mind.

_ Okumura Kunikazu.  _

"So this is your grave," she said, as though it meant something. As though the name meant anything. The cairn was empty, as was each other one. That she knew without knowing how.

Also nearby was the cairn beneath which the ravens cawed. She approached it—the clothes which adorned this cairn held white too, but also blue danced across the space, at times fluttering up far into the air before dancing down. The grave was excited. She pressed it for a name, and as before she was given one.

_ Akechi Goro. _

"And you too, I suppose you believe you mean something now."

The grave did not answer. Of course it didn't. Neither the dead, nor the stone's, had voices with which to speak. She gazed at the monument for a little longer before turning away.

All the cairns were like this, names of the dead, meaningless to her, white and then another colour belonging to the rainbow dancing about the world. She paused, briefly, at one cairn, longer than the others. But from that, too, she walked.

After making her rounds, the apathetic gravetender returned to the centre of the space. Only when she returned there and sat, did something happen. From the furthest edge of the water, a ripple passed across the space. She sat still as it approached, and began to wash over the cairns. As each was touched, it collapsed, falling into dust, cloth disappearing under the hand of chaos. The woman watched it all without pause, seeing the water part to pass her by. And so stillness returned to the realm, the space now adorned with sigils in the dust.

She let out a breath she hadn't remembered holding.

"It's all gone, isn't it," a voice said from underneath her. She looked down to see a figure sitting just as she was, face identical to her own. "For you, it's all gone."

She shrugged. "Nothing worth keeping."

"What is worth keeping? How much do you remember? Can you tell me your own name."

"No," she replied honestly. "But a name is only one thing. It only holds meaning when you let it. Besides, I imagine you don't know your name either."

The person on the other side of the divide shook her head, her expression sorrowful. "I just know that I'm meant to say that 'I am you, and you are I. But you are not yourself.' I hope you understand it. I don't think I do."

“I don’t either,” she admitted to herself, and to her other self. “But I do know that, regardless of what we think, there are things which we need to do here. Sitting here isn’t an option for us.”

“I know, it’s just . . .”

“Just what?”

“We’re so different,” the girl said. “It feels, in a lot of ways, like you  _ can’t  _ be me. I can’t seem to find a way to reconcile it. And before you say ‘then don’t’—I know that you’re thinking it, which is strange. The way that I can know what you might be thinking, the way I have the vaguest sense as to your past, but yet, nothing concrete. It’s like—”

“Water, slipping through our fingers,” the woman replied. “The only part of it we can see is the droplets which cling to our palm.”

“R-right. Either way, before you say ‘then don’t’, the thoughts which go through your head are so different from mine. I need to know why you’re thinking this. I need to know what’s happened.”

“We tried to save the world,” the woman said. Surprisingly, the words rang true, at least enough so for her. “For a while we tried to. But nothing worked. Not until we tried to burn it down instead. That alone worked.”

“We?”

She nodded. “The Phantom Thieves. I was a Phantom Thief. I’m sure that the words will mean something more in a minute. We . . . we tried to change our society, finding key people who could change things for the better. It didn’t work. Each person we changed was like a single robot in my father’s palace—remove one cog in the machine and it’s just replaced by another, on and on and on it goes.”

“Your father . . .” her other self mumbled, hiding her face behind her hand. As though the mask she had to wear in day to day life was failing her. The woman remembered when she had felt that way, so long ago. The breaking before she had found her strength. It had taken her own self quite a while to come to that place. If this was the self which would never reach that point . . . her heart sank at the thought. People like this were why she had done what she’d done. “You don’t hold out hope for him anymore, do you.” She shook her head. “So you won’t help him. Won’t try to redeem him?”

“No,” she answered honestly. “He’s killed enough people for his death to be warranted. To do any amount of good, I had to spend so long pulling the Okumura name out of the mud . . .” she paused in her heated rant. “Okumura . . . that’s our name.”

At the back of her mind, she recalled the first of the cairns she had found.  _ Okumura Kunikazu. Father, then.  _

“Name aside,” the other her waved it off. “Wouldn’t you rather bring him to justice?”

She smiled sadly. “As you grow older, you realise the limitations of justice. Like law, it’s too obsessed with order. Unconcerned with either the ideals of fairness and equity, nor the necessary pragmatism to put itself into practice.

“Justice is, I must admit, something I once wished for. Nowadays, it’s significantly less of a concern.”

“You’ve become a cynic with age.”

“I prefer to consider myself a realist. Either way, I imagine things will be coming to an end now.” With that, she stood, brushing off her legs in the same motion. The caver seemed lighter, somehow, as though light was breaking in some faraway place. She watched for a long moment. “I believe I have an idea as to our name. Okumura Haru, isn’t it?” Her other self nodded. “I wonder what flower our parents had in mind when they named us. I suppose it doesn’t particularly matter.” Haru gave one last glance to her other self, then turned to walk away.

“Wait!” the other Haru called out, and she glanced back toward her to see the girl staring at her in desperation. “I know how you talked about how our father doesn’t deserve to live, how he’s done awful things. But at the same time, after mother died . . . he was the only one who cared for me. Please, for that at least he deserves mercy.”

Haru took a long look at her compatriot. The other her was right—at this point they very much were two separate beings. The girl before her was still a child. A child which deserved her sympathy.

“I’ll keep him alive,” Haru decided, and her other self collapsed in relief. “Not because he deserves it. But for you, I’ll do it.” She paused, looking around. “What happens, after we part. Where do you go?”

“I don’t know,” the girl said. “But I fear it is someplace cold.”

“I . . . see,” Haru said, looking down at the water. There were two forms of herself down there now, the form of her younger self, and her own reflection. The reflection wore her outfit as a thief, and carried its scythe in her hands. Haru moved her own hands, and the reflection’s followed suit. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” She walked over to her younger self. “I take it that it will not be pleasant for you.”

“I know what you’re thinking,” her other self said. “And yes. I will accept it. I suppose you consider it mercy.”

“I do.” With slow movements, she let the weapon fall into the water. Despite not being seen, it rippled the water as it bent low.

“I don’t understand what is so merciful there, I suppose.” 

"That's something you've yet to learn," the elder Haru said. She finished moving the scythe, guiding the edge behind the girl. "There's an old Italian proverb: at the end of the game, the king and the pawn go back in the same box. That is a lesson which you have not learned, and which now you never will. And I'm afraid you and I are strangers grown."

The scythe severed truly.

Her Persona was already speaking to her as she pushed herself up off the ground. “After all our revolutionary work, we find ourselves in a society we so loathe, do we? Then let the fires burn once more, let our contract be renewed and let the people sing their song of freedom.”

“Yes, let them,” she said as she rose to her feet and ripped the mask off. “Enjolras.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: violence, injuries, mentions of Kamoshida and his general stuff. A character is heavily implied to be killed by another in a form of mercy, as the former is effectively already dead.
> 
> I know there was a longer gap between this chapter and the last than normal--in the future you can probably expect for the time between chapters to be between what we've seen before and this gap. While I don't want to leave people waiting a long time between chapters, this timeline is a bit more sustainable for me.
> 
> Onto the chapter itself. We have a new Persona appearing, and I'll also briefly go over some of the thought process behind the new codenames. Starting with codenames:
> 
> \- As mentioned in the chapter, I figured Goro wouldn't want to continue going by Crow, as the name is one he heavily associates with when he had to betray the team and kill Joker. At the same time, the name Shrike shows that he still has a fair bit of his old bite, as shrikes, while beautiful birds, are vicious creatures known for impaling their prey on thorns before eating them, and their name comes from the Latin word for 'butcher'  
> \- Since Ann's original outfit is not making an appearance in this fic, I figured the name Panther wouldn't exactly be appropriate. However, the association with Artemis gave me a fairly easy replacement, and since Ann in this fic views her/themself as more of a demigirl than being nonbinary, I figured Huntress would make more since than Hunter. By happy accident, just as Ann's original rendition was inspired by the Batman character Catwoman, I learned after choosing this name that there is also a Batman supporting character named Huntress, after whom Ann's Thief outfit ended up being inspired  
> \- Without any previous Metaverse experiences to go off of, Ryuji went with the only major thing which he does have experience with, which is his experience with music, especially classical music. It also helps get across that this will be a somewhat different take on Ryuji--while he still has the same overall personality, his hobbies and tendencies are rather different   
> \- Spectre is mainly a continuation of Haru's death imagery, as well as tying into the idea that the Phantom Thieves are all in a way dead beings that have returned to a world they used to inhabit--while obviously this isn't exactly the case it adds something to the tragedy of what they're all going through, in my opinion  
> \- Sumire has a changed codename because, in my opinion at least, Violet is probably the weakest of the codenames in canon, and I wanted to give her one that wasn't just a translation of her own name. Rogues are obviously a form of thief, but in particular they are ones who act outside of the general expectation for how they should operate, lending to the possibility that Sumire has a bit more hiding underneath of what she already presents
> 
> As for Haru's Persona, Enjolras was one of the main characters of Victor Hugo's Les Misérables, and is the leader of les amis de l'ABC, a revolutionary group which seeks to return France to a democratic government after the monarchy was restored. The revolution ultimately ends in failure, and Enjolras was executed by the National Guard. Still, his ideals lived on, and ultimately France would indeed become a democracy as he had wished.
> 
> As always, thank you all for reading and I hope you enjoyed!


	17. All Questions, No Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Makoto wonders about things, Goro gives a hug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's uh . . . it's been a while. Don't really have a good reason for that, this past year has just been a lot and a lot of personal stuff has been going on. In any case, hopefully this fic will be getting back to its old update schedule, or at least something close to it. Hope you all enjoy.
> 
> A content warning can be found at the end of the chapter.

_Today was an utter clusterfuck,_ Makoto decided as the group stumbled from the Metaverse and into reality. Most were groaning and leaning against the nearby buildings—Akechi in particular seemed to be ready to fall asleep after having spent the last of his energy healing the group from that last fight—a fight they should never have gone into, and wouldn't have had it not been for the bullheadedness of two of their members. Barring the timely awakening of Haru—who was presently leaning against the wall, hissing as she popped one of her fingers back into its socket—they would likely have fallen within the palace. Even in the moment, watching Haru’s wraith-like figure slash through shadows, accompanied by heavy blasts of nuclear magic from Enjolras, Makoto had believed it to be too little too late. Thankfully, it had proven to not be the case.

“Right, everyone,” Akira’s voice cut in, and Makoto swiveled to stare at the woman as she caught her breath. Her face was red from exertion, to a degree Makoto could never have imagined upon Ren. “That was a good job from each and every one of you. Be sure to get plenty of rest tonight—you’ve all earned it, and tomorrow we’re going right back into it. Hydrate, get some food, all of that. I’m going to go and try and introduce myself to my old doctor tonight so that we can get some better medication for tomorrow. Before we break for the night, does anyone have any questions?”

“Yeah,” Ryuji chimed in. “How long until the rest of us get one of those giant monster things?”

“What, you mean your Persona?” the man who apparently was Morgana (Makoto had doubts on the matter, but had decided to file the matter under ‘lower priority things to worry over later’) said. There was a slight smirk on his lips, as though knowing something that the blond didn’t was something to be lauded for ( _Alright,_ Makoto conceded to herself, _that would in fact be a point in his favor_ ).

Ryuji made a noise of affirmation, and Morgan nodded along, taking a moment to retie his hair in a loose ponytail before speaking. “They, uh, they come to you in times of major personal crisis and growth; moments when you have to look into yourself and rise up. Lots of internal thought and stress, that sort of thing.”

“So, it’ll happen when I realise it needs to happen. Like, unconsciously know it needs to happen, that is?”

“Yeah. Got that quicker than I’d have expected, too.”

“Hey, what do you mean by that!” At that, the blond grabbed the taller man and pulled him down, messing with his hair in retaliation while Morgan pleaded mercy, his mustard scarf flying everywhere in his struggles. A few laughs broke out through the group at the sight. Makoto could swear that she heard Haru say something to the effect of ‘we’ve incited violence amongst our own’. For a moment, Makoto was caught up in the moment, letting out a light chuckle at the sight as well. For just a second, it felt as though the Thieves were back in some capacity.

Then, her gaze shifted over and caught Akechi. He was standing by Akira, murmuring something to her. Whatever it was, she giggled at it. _Of course she did._ Then he turned and, seeing Makoto looking at him, gave her a slight smirk. Instantaneously, every warm feeling she might have been feeling died a swift, plunging death.

“Right,” Akira said. “We should all get going. Meet back here tomorrow, same time as we met today, and hopefully tomorrow will be a little bit easier, huh?” There were a few murmured assents, and the group began to separate. Makoto stood in place for a moment, waving off a question from Haru with a smile, before she walked back towards Shujin. Now that she had seen what the castle had looked like, it was near impossible not to imagine it standing there instead, but she swallowed down any fear as she searched for some quiet place to think, eventually settling on the student council room. She didn’t bother turning on the lights, instead sitting down in the dark and closing her eyes in contemplation.

When she had been younger, in the days before her father had died, she had felt that something was off. Starting about two weeks before he had died, there had been something around him, some facet of his person that had seemed to falter. She remembered how he had seemed more absent during conversations, how Sae had asked him a few times to take a day to rest, only for him to refuse, how it had seemed like even a faint light had given him a headache. Strange things, building up upon each other, which had granted her young mind an unbearable sense of unease, growing and growing until the day he died. The day when, in the middle of a history class, she had been called to the office, and was taken from school to the precinct by one of her father’s coworkers. Sae had been waiting for her there, and there they learned together what had happened to their father.

The feeling which had seized her then abated, leaving Makoto numb for weeks afterwards. So far in her life, it had only returned to her twice. The first was in the days leading up to the Thieves attempt to double-cross Akechi—the attempt which had gone so horribly wrong that its repercussions had echoed throughout the rest of Makoto’s life.

The second had begun yesterday, whispers of unease. Unlike before, where they’d been imperceptible at first, only becoming evident in the last few days before disaster, they now began loudly, and their volume had only grown.

 _Is it too late already?_ she wondered. Akira was already hiding things from her, Akechi had already integrated himself into the team. And then today he had pushed at her spot as the team’s strategist—a push which Akira had actively encouraged by choosing to follow his lead, bringing the group near to ruin on their first excursion together. Not to mention her active work to empower a serial killer. 

Had Makoto known that Akira had been planning on teaching Akechi how to recruit shadows, she would have protested vehemently, but by the time she realised what was happening, Akira and Morgan were already suggesting responses for him to give the selkie he’d been talking to, and he’d quickly picked up the rest from there.

They’d had one actual advantage against the Black Mask—that only having two Personas meant that through careful strategy they could minimise their defences and capitalise on his weaknesses. With what Akira had shown him, that advantage was entirely gone.

 _She’s working with him, then._ Makoto decided. _She’s working with him and showing random people into the Metaverse. Actually, wait, why would she bring her teacher into the Metaverse?_ That was one element that Makoto couldn’t help but wonder about as she’d gone home last night. There hadn’t been any mistaking what Akira had done, but there was no reason that made sense behind her actions. Ren had never mentioned anything about Kawakami in their own timeline, and the only thing Makoto could remember was that she’d been hospitalized for a few weeks in the events leading up to . . . when everything went wrong—Makoto had lost track of her status after that. Maybe Akira knew something about that hospitalization and by bringing her teacher into the Metaverse she’d hoped to avoid it—maybe treating a chronic condition with a healing Persona, but there was no _motive_ there, nothing that a teacher could do to justify the risk of bringing them into the Metaverse.

Makoto leaned back and groaned as she thought, rubbing at her temple. The telltale signs of a headache were making themselves known, and she could tell they wouldn’t be abating now. _I wish I just had a Persona again. Even Ryuji was more useful today than I was. Not to mention how nice it would be to have a safeguard against a mental shutdow. . ._

_A mental shutdown. Principal Kobayakawa suffered from one of them when he was heading towards the police station, meaning he’s probably part of the conspiracy. And if he’s part of the conspiracy, and Akira is working with Akechi . . . maybe she feels she can’t meet Kobayakawa directly and she’s using a teacher as the messenger? Maybe Kawakami is part of the conspiracy in this universe?_

_Admittedly, it seems far-fetched. But what else could it even be? If the impossible is being rejected, then whatever is left must be the truth._

Makoto grimaced before grabbing her phone and opening the Nav. _I’ll find out the truth on my own. Besides, it’s time I get my Persona back._ With that, she thumbed the button for Mementos and vanished from the real world.

***

“Um, what are you doing?” Akira asked Goro as the three of them were moving through Shibuya’s train station. Sumire looked up to them both to see Goro giving the most evil looking smirk possible.

“Smiling,” Goro said. “Figured if I’m trying to be nicer to people I should act the part. Less of the ‘plastic Detective Prince’ smiles and all that.”

“You look like you’re trying to sell kryptonite to Lex Luthor.”

“Oh, does it look bad?” Goro asked, face falling as he did so. “I’m sorry. The muscle memory on this face isn’t quite what I’m used to—I’m sure you both have had similar things happen.”

Sumire nodded and raised one of her hands up so the others could see a bandage she’d wrapped around one of her fingers. “My hands aren’t quite where I remember them being. To be honest, I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve accidentally hit something with them.” She decided to leave out that she’d stubbed her big toe on her left foot at least a dozen times in the past two days. She’d been ignoring the pain for a few days now and didn’t want to give it any further legitimacy.

Akira winced in sympathy before she looked ahead, twirling a lock of hair in her fingers as she did so. _God, even now she’s still pretty._

“Yeah, I got kind of lucky,” Akira mentioned. “I hit another big growth spurt going into college, so I’m really enjoying not having to duck to avoid hitting my head on door frames.” Behind her, Sumire could see Goro glance up in the air, as though trying to imagine just how tall Akira was trying to get at. _Addendum, even now they’re both still pretty._ At one point, that thought would have been enough to make her flustered. Thankfully, if there was one thing that having spent years being friends with Ryuji and Yosuke had resolved, it was that skittishness.

At the thought of her other friends, she took a wistful glance to her phone. While she imagined that only the core group of Phantom Thieves had returned, she would have preferred to check. Unfortunately, she’d never been one for easily remembering small details, and she couldn’t quite recall the numbers of those she had interacted with over the years: whether they be Shadow Operatives, the ‘Investigation Team’, or even the Sapporo-based branch of the Phantom Thieves that had sprung up a few years ago in her time. She imagined Futaba could find what she had forgotten—for another time, she decided. Once the group had fully settled and weren’t trying to complete a Palace in four days.

“Looks like this is my train,” Akira mentioned as they reached the line for Yongen-Jaya. “Guess I’ll see you both tomorrow.” Sumire nodded along, while Goro gave her a mock salute. “Gotta say, you’ve both done good work. Thanks for being such a help, Goro. And Sumire, it’s been good getting to know you.”

“Same,” Sumire said, trying to not let any edge of disappointment filter through her voice. Goro’s eyes flicked over to her despite it, a warm red colour washing over her and letting her know she hadn’t succeeded. “Get your rest, Akira.”

“That’s right, Joker,” Goro chimed in. “Can’t have you losing your touch on day two.”

The smirk that Akira gave them in response wasn’t one which Sumire would traditionally associate with Joker. Maybe a hair softer, a hair more honest than that mask let on. With that she began to walk away, leaving them both to head for their own train. Sumire, though, chose to stay there for a moment and watch the girl she admired so much walk away from her. 

When they’d first met, Akira had seemed unflappable. She hadn’t projected herself, sure, and the girl was one of the least athletic people Sumire knew. But there was a strength under that. Akira had known who she was and stayed true to it, never losing faith in her own abilities no matter what was happening. Whenever the Phantom Thieves were sharing ideas, Akira would listen in silence before deciding, and that decision was what the group had gone with. Only outside of those moments would her softer side come through.

It was that confidence (though her Goro would affectionately refer to it as arrogance) which had drawn Sumire. 

The person walking away from Sumire now was still Akira, that much was obvious. And yet that confidence seemed to have vanished, replaced with a nervous energy that led to her leaning on the others for support in a way which was unfamiliar. Her Akira would never have asked others for advice, instead waiting for them to speak their mind and decide from that. If no one spoke, then it was because they had nothing to add, and her own decisions would suffice for the group. 

Ultimately, it wasn’t a huge difference. But it was a recognisable one. And with it, Sumire knew that her Akira was lost to her. Not for the first time, she wished that this was all a dream, and that she would soon wake up on a lazy morning with her partners.

“I imagine you’re thinking a similar thing to myself,” Goro spoke, pulling her from her reverie. She turned to face the alternate version of her boyfriend. “It’s strange, how despite knowing that she isn’t the same person I love—intellectually, that is—I’m unable to convince my heart to follow my logic.”

“That doesn’t sound strange at all,” Sumire said with a shake of her head. “Isn’t that the sort of thing the heart does all the time?”

Goro smiled. “I suppose so. That said, before we part ways, I wanted to ask you how you were holding up? You and I weren’t necessarily the closest of friends in my world, but I understand that this was a rather trying time . . .”

“Uh, yeah,” Sumire said with a bit of a grimace. She opened her mouth to speak again, only for a passerby to knock into her. Jostled by it, she gestured for her and Goro to step to the side of the hallway, tucking in next to a pillar before she began to speak. “To be honest, it just feels . . . strange, I guess? I mean, I’ve already made my peace with Kasumi a long time ago. And being back here isn’t making me go back on that, but feeling the way I feel, in a time where it isn’t in sync with everything, it’s . . .” she stopped, searching for words. Remembered how two nights ago she’d heard her parents crying in their bedroom when they thought she was asleep. “I feel like I should be more upset than I am. That I’m a bad person because of it. And I know that I’m not, because I can’t escape the feeling. At least, not right now. But I’m already handling things better than I had in the old timeline. I’ve been avoiding my parents for a few days, just while I get a handle on the whole timeline thing. But once I do talk with them, I think things will be fine.” She stopped again.

“Do you think I’m a bad person? For choosing to not think of her, to not mourn, and instead focus on the Thieves?”

Goro’s normally thin-lined resting face softened and he gave her a sad smile. “Of course not. Everyone grieves in their own way, and if this is how you handle this then that’s fine.”

Sumire nodded. “T-thank you. I just . . . it’s been so long since I’ve seen her. I can’t even remember what she sounds like.” Her voice was breaking—she could hear it in every word.

“Hug?” His eyes showed the same breakage.

“Please,” and at that she pulled her friend close, clinging tightly as the tears she had been keeping deep inside broke free at last. Judging by the trails of moisture which were reaching her head, she wasn’t the only one. “I want to go home,” she whispered into his pea coat, and she felt his arms tighten around her.

“I know,” he said, voice equally quiet. “I want that too. And we will. Just gotta be strong.”

“R-right,” she hiccupped. “We can do that, right?”

“Yeah. I think we can.”

***

It had taken Goro a while to clean up enough that he felt confident moving about again. Fame might have been a burden he had been glad to rid himself of, but he imagined that shedding the layer of Detective Prince without any fanfare would be too much to do without arousing unnecessary suspicion. As such, once he and Sumire had separated and she had gone on her way, he’d spent a few minutes recomposing himself in that dark corner before moving on. 

He felt tired, tired in a way that penetrated deeper than physical exhaustion and mental flagging. Soul-deep, if one could use a phrase such as that. Thankfully, though, there was nothing else that he needed to do for the day. As such, he’d allowed himself to trudge back to his apartment, occasionally checking his phone for any messages from the Phantom Thieves. One did come through as he passed by a coffee chain, and he made the executive decision to stand in line for an overpriced shot of caffeine, both to wake himself up and to get a chance to respond.

Sibling by bdg 

Futaba: Made new chat for the 2 of us

Goro: why?

Goro: and what the hell is a bdg

Futaba: oh it’s a reference to that one video

Futaba: gimme a sec

Futaba: oh whoops looks like the video isnt out yet. give it like 3 months

Futaba: also i made this cuz im bored

Futaba: hospital is boring n they wont let me out

Goro: I’m sorry to hear that. I’ll try and visit tomorrow.

Futaba: oh sweet

Futaba: anyways

Futaba: how did palace go

Futaba: sry i couldnt join yall

Goro: It’s fine. You just focus on healing.

Goro: The palace went fine. We made plenty of good progress. I’m also pretty sure I’m growing on the rest of the group.

Futaba: yay!

Goro: Yeah. I wasn’t exactly on the best terms with most of them in my own timeline, so this is nice.

Goro: I think Haru isn’t the biggest fan of me but otherwise pretty sure everyone is chill.

Futaba: nice! lil bro is making friends

Goro: lil???

Futaba: duh. im 28 n born in feb, u 28 n born in june

Goro: Oh, right.

Futaba: hahalol get rekt anyway come 2 hospital tomorrow plz

Goro: I’ll be sure to. Oh g2g, ttyl

With that he stuffed his phone back into his pocket, grabbed the coffee which had just been brought over, muttered a quick thank you, and felt the relief of caffeine entering his system as he set out for his apartment again. 

It was disappointing to need coffee again. His younger self had been legitimately addicted to caffeine, and detoxing from it had been one of the least pleasant experiences of his life. Returning to a body which craved the substance certainly ranked as one of the minor horrors of the whole situation.

Still, he was handling. _Things certainly could be better, but they also could be a whole lot worse._ With a quiet energy that, by the standards of Akechi Goro might as well have been a spring in his step, he pulled open the door to his apartment, took another swig of coffee, and stepped inside. Then he froze, looked around, and swore internally.

_Never mind. Things are a whole lot worse._

With steps that he forced to be calm, Goro walked past some brown-haired person he didn’t pay half a mind to and sat down on his couch. Across from him, a man who had starred in his nightmares sat, patiently waiting.

“Hello there, Akechi,” Masayoshi Shido said, his voice holding a mocking warmth in itself. “Been trying to get in touch with you for the past couple of days. Do you want to explain why all of a sudden I’ve been getting a cold shoulder? I’m dying to know the reason.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: mention of a character dealing with a popped ligament by themselves. Generally Makoto stuff.
> 
> Edit: It just occurred to me that Futaba naming her new chat Siblings by bdg implies that there is a third, even older half-sibling-thanks-to-Shido running around somewhere, which was very much not intended but oh well.


	18. And She Grieved Over Their Plotted Evil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Makoto talks to herself, Goro takes a trip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warnings can be found in the end of chapter notes.

The girl opened her eyes, and saw only darkness. For a moment she lay there, water lapping at her skin. Then she scrambled up, limbs flailing about. Her eyes adjusted to the blackness, and she found herself standing with a vast cavern, ceiling distantly visible. She stood upon an unending plain, not a single feature within reach. 

At best, she knew that there was something there. Something with her. It, the driving notion of being watched, scraped at her attention. She twisted to follow it, gave in to terrible curiosity. 

Below her, there stood an identical form to her own. They wore the same clothes, though the mirror hid herself within them, as though the uniformity was armour. Slowly, her other self tilted her gaze to greet the girl with dead, unthinking eyes. Unbidden, her first thought came:  _ God, what a useless person.  _

For a moment, imperceptible yet equally unending, they simply stared at each other. Eventually, though, her doppleganger spoke, taking time to sound out her words. Uncertainty was present in every world, like venom thoroughly coursing through its victim’s veins. “You’re here . . . I’ve been waiting, but I don’t know for what. I am you, and you are I. But you are not yourself.”

The girl blinked. “Is that supposed to mean anything?”

Her mirrored half continued unheedingly. “Do you remember your name? I don’t remember mine. But at the same time, I know we share one.”

The girl frowned. She had come to this place, this unending void with purpose. Purpose which she now could not recall, hovering at the edge of her conscious thoughts. If only she could push a step farther, break through the fog at the edge of her being. Find the truth towards which exigency brought her. Games regarding names, though . . . 

She winced at the thought. A low whining noise—a barely-modulating tone—was present on the edge of the world, building from an earlier quietude—at what point the sound had begun, the girl knew not, just that it was now evident to her. 

“I don’t have time for this. It isn’t what I need or want. You . . . you’re the me from this world, aren’t you?” The other girl nodded. “Then you haven’t seen what I’ve seen. Know what I know. Without that, I have no reason to humor you.” The noise was growing, a shard piercing into her side, deepening its hold with every passing moment. “So no. I don’t know our name. And I don’t care.”

Instantaneously, its severity magnified, and she clutched at her head, teeth gnashing in synchronicity with the resonance, her vision blurring in time with quicksilver tempo.

As though her sinews were split, crown ripped off, she was elsewhere, blinking furiously. 

The sight of a palatial battlefield filled her eyes, and she took in the diminutive space. Still expanding in a bid to hold itself upright, all that was present was Makoto herself (she knew her name now, she noted off-handedly. At what point had she forgotten about it?), a handful of scattered shadows, and then  _ her.  _ The sovereign of this place, golden eyes flickering about as she gripped her head in unison with her true self. They had come into contact for only a moment when everything had gone dark, and now Makoto could see that, whatever it was which had happened in Abzu, had struck at the core of her other self. The shadow backed away a few steps, arms limp. Golden trails cracked within her veins.

“Well?” her subconscious hissed. “You got a chance to see it. Not that you’ve learned anything, no, you’re going to have to keep everything and everyone at arm’s distance, aren’t you? Don’t bother learning any—”

“Shut up,” Makoto growled.  _ Was this how Futaba felt—just having a doll yammer on to you about utter nonsense?  _ “You have something I need. If it’s in that place, then I guess I’m just going to have to go in and take it.” Having spoken, she advanced towards her shadow and grappled it.

The girl stood in the darkness once more, where the horizon unfurled endlessly into water. She glanced down, knowing vaguely of what she would find there. Her other self was looking off into the distance, eyes wide.

“Someone is here,” the doppleganger said. “Beyond us, I mean. They slipped in here while the way was open.” The girl raised an eyebrow, and the other continued. “I don’t recognise them. Another piece of your life.”

The girl turned her head to follow her other self’s gaze. Swallowed her fear. “I’ll speak with them,” she said. “You needn’t concern yourself with this matter.” She paused for a moment. “What will you do?”

“Depart fully, I expect.”

“I see,” she said. “I’ll do what I can in your stead.” There was more which she wished to say, but she held back her tongue. She waited until her other self had descended below the waves. Only then did the girl walk forward. 

In the middle of the water there was a single booth, the likes of which she knew very well. Amber light spilled down onto it from nowhere and cascaded over the water around it. A figure was seated there, watching her with stormcloud eyes. The girl matched the gaze with her own as she took her seat opposite the figure with deliberate motions.

“You aren’t supposed to be here,” she said.

They shrugged. “Abzu and Palaces aren’t meant to be in the same place either. It’s inevitable that something gets tracked in from one side to the other.”

_ Palaces?  _ she wondered.  _ Right, I’d gone into a Palace because I needed something. Something I couldn’t get elsewhere. Palaces, they have treasures, they have cognitions, they have Shadows. I needed a Shadow. Needed my Shadow. _

_ I was—I am, rather—in my own Palace. To get a . . . a Persona. I need to protect my friends, and I need to stop something. Protect . . . I try to protect people. Help them. Like I couldn’t help my sister or my father. For that I need strength. Need to be strong enough to help them, to save them. Like I’ve always wanted to be.  _

Makoto blinked as everything realigned, and looked across the table. “You’re a cognition, aren’t you?”

The lanky figure nodded, curly black hair bouncing about as they did so. “Two lovely folks, stuffed together into one form.”

“Cut the bullshit, Ren.”

“No bullshit, Akira’s also a part of me. I mean, not  _ as  _ much a part, but you’ve known Ren so much longer. It’s only natural he’d be the dominant part. Akira’s just a little tiny drop of it all.”

“I’m still going to call you Ren.” __

“Fine then,” Ren decided, looking at her with an easy grin. It made her shift uncomfortably where she sat. “What? Oh, you’re waiting for me to try and kill you, aren’t you? Well, you needn’t worry. You know me enough to know my pragmatist streak. Now you’re in another reality entirely than I am. Nothing I do here will ultimately matter when it comes to my real self, back home.”

“Sugimaru’s cognitive self was never this self aware.”

“Perks of being the cognition of a Persona user who is deeply aware of the mechanisms of the Metaverse. Or at least the perk of being a cognition of a girl as intelligent as you.”

“Stop that?”

“What?” Ren asked. “I’m just being honest. Or as honest as I can be. Though of course, I can only tell you things that you already know. I imagine that we’re both trying to figure out just how much that actually is.” Makoto sighed. “You alright?”

“It’s just now hit me the sheer amount of bullshit that went into talking with you,” she said, voice level and honest. Opposite her, Ren leaned in, hugging their elbows close and looking at her with a deep curiosity. Ren wasn’t wearing glasses. It unnerved her, and she pushed past it as quickly as possible. “I have to wonder: did I think it was cute at first, how you would play coy with information? Like it was a game we were both playing on equal terms? Of course, that was before I realized that you never intended on actually being honest with me. With anyone. You just handed them some crumbs and convinced them they were eating a feast.”

Ren chuckled, and she shot a glare at them. “Hey, hey now,” they began, raising hands in mock surrender. “You do me a disservice. The skittish one that likes pretending to be honest, that’s Akira. Ren, though, Ren was genuine with you about loads of things.” They paused, thinking for a moment as they tapped a finger against the table. “You must have figured it out, right? You’re clever enough to have. And sure, as your friend, Ei-something, said, you aren’t the best with emotional insight, but still, you were around me that along. Even subconsciously, you must have realised, which is how I know.”

“Know what?”

“Know that I genuinely did care about you. It’s just that . . . self-preservation ended up winning out. That’s all.”

“Stop lying to me.”  _ Ren always lies. You cannot tell his truths from his lies. Akira always lies. You cannot tell her truths from her lies.  _ “Stop talking altogether if you feel you can’t do anything but tell falsehoods. They benefit neither of us here. You’ve already shown me your true face before. Trying to win me over now will achieve nothing for you.”

Ren paused, then reluctantly nodded. “Alright then. Truth be told, I only came here to tell you one thing, but then I managed to get caught up in all of that. You know how our old conversations used to go on and on for far too long, before—”

“The point.”

“Right, right. I told you once about how I was a more happy-go-lucky kid before my arrest. Sure, I was a bit of an introvert, but I was way better about things than I am now. You can choose whether or not you believe me about that, but the point is simply that I was a very different person before my life crumbled down around me. It’s like, have you ever seen the fight between Yanagi Ryuken and Iwakura Tsuyoshi?” 

Makoto shook her head. 

“Well, you must have seen it at some point. Otherwise I wouldn’t be able to remember it right now. The point is, the moment when Yanagi was punched in the face, right at the start of the fight. The severe shock he went through, as he was probably punched in the face for the first time. Major experiences, physical and mental experiences and changes fundamentally change us. Being arrested changed me fundamentally. Therefore . . .”

“What,” Makoto asked. “You’re going to say that I’m changed because of what happened when you betrayed us? When I was beaten and had to watch my sister  _ break  _ seeing what was done to me? Anyone could tell that I was changed.” She scowled, leaning back in the seat and staring at the scum. “There really is nothing worth learning from you, is there?”

“Well, it doesn’t really matter what you take away from this in the end. After all, no matter what you decide, the truth will remain the same.” Ren leaned in. “I will always be a part of you.”

Makoto punched them without thinking, knocking the piece of trash back where they sat. They seemed stunned, blinking away the pain, and Makoto seized the moment, throwing herself forward and grabbing Ren’s collar. The cognition grabbed at her hand, but without much success. Swift movements took her from the booth and back into Abzu’s dark, and Ren was pulled along.

Makoto let go of them and watched as they landed on their side, elbow sinking into the water. “Fuck,” the cognition muttered as they collected themself. “You really are just a piece of sh—” their words were halted as Makoto kicked them upside the head.

It was easy to get behind the being after that, and push it further into the water.

_ Rid yourself of it,  _ a part of her said.  _ You have nothing to learn from either of them. Ren, Akira. Neither able, nor willing to be of a damn use. _

Beneath her, the thing struggled, but it couldn’t remove itself from the place where it was pinned down. Around her, the water’s surface was turbulent. All at once, the surface was broken by violent splashing, and then there was nothing.

Makoto knelt for a moment longer before standing up fully, carefully straightening out her clothing. The water was returning to its original state as a flat mirror. She gazed at her reflection. In the darkness, only illuminated by the warm light coming from the booth, her hair almost looked black.

Makoto stepped out of Abzu and back into the Palace her Shadow constructed. It was a small, feeble thing. The other Shadows were scattering. It was, however, still the Metaverse. She still felt a mask upon her face.

“I . . .” her persona began, “I expect we will want to begin soon. Bring tyrants to their knees, bring justice to the land? There will be those who oppose us, but I think that, together, we ought to be able to handle it.” The voice was strange, an undercurrent to it of metal on metal.

Still, Makoto couldn’t complain about having this power now. Later than she deserved to have it, but still. “Alright then. Let’s see what you can do, Harmodius.”

***

_ I wish either my father or my mother, or indeed both of them,  _ Goro thought,  _ as they were in duty both equally bound to it, had minded what they were about when they begot me.  _ He’d read that somewhere, at some point he now couldn’t quite recall. The passage stuck to him.

Ahead of him sat one of those parents. The one whose existence caused nightmares and rage and sorrow. Who had, inadvertently, caused his death on two separate occasions. Sitting there like there wasn’t a care in the world, beard hidden behind the hand on his chin. The lenses of his glasses were light green in this universe, as opposed to the orange Goro was used to. The eyes underneath the spectacles, however, remained soulless.

Goro took it all in and willed himself not to feel. Under his skin, he could feel his heart pounding as it never had before. There was an impulse speaking out, seizing at his muscles, demanding that he lunge forward and strike the man. Kill him, if possible. Flames he’d once thought extinguished were now roaring furious. He breathed in, and reined back frenzied intent.

_ A question. There had been a question. _

“I’m afraid it was damaged after operating in the Metaverse most recently,” Goro responded, pulling out a lie that seemed half-decent. He wished he’d thought ahead enough to prepare what to say. He knew that, back in the day, he would have. The Detective Prince would have played this conversation out in every permutation long before coming face to face with his father. Would have triple checked every statement for possible ways it could have revealed something or could be discovered as a falsehood. 

Had time eroded and safety eroded him such? 

“I was unsure how best to contact you from there. I didn’t want to risk any exposure.”

Opposite him, Shido made a pinched face. “Guess it couldn’t be helped,” the man said, and Goro tensed. Shido was  _ never  _ that calm about anything, not at any point in the years Goro had worked with him.  _ This is new territory. Dangerous territory.  _ “In any case, a new one will be sent to you in the mail. Be ready, you’ll have to hit the ground running. Onto my other main question for today: what you did to the train driver, I’d never seen anything like that before. I mean, having the driver lose consciousness is one thing, but actively speeding it into the station? Beauty, completely and utterly. So tell me, how on Earth did you manage to do it?”

Goro remained silently, mind racing to determine what he ought to say. The cheap leather of his couch creaked as he shifted his legs.  _ Maybe I can—  _

“Tell me!” Shido barked, leaning dangerously forward as he did so. Goro fought to keep himself from flinching, to ignore the spittle he felt on his cheek, ignore how his heartbeat spiked, pull away from memories of blows struck against him, from the bathroom door where he had seen the blood of his mother . . . he shuddered.

“Apologies,” Goro muttered, rubbing at his eyelid. “I’ve been somewhat out of sorts today.”

Shido waved him off. His eyes betrayed nothing of sorry or pity. The excuse, as expected, was intended to be without meaning. “It’s alright, I understand. I shouldn’t have yelled.” At that, Shido looked past Goro (Goro imagined it was to the brown-haired person he had walked past) and gave them an almost-imperceptible nod to them. “But still, go ahead.” Having spoken, Shido leaned back, sitting ankle-on-knee.

_ Calm. Too calm. Something’s off. Something I’m missing. What is it—God, what is it? _

“I had to fight the Shadow,” he eventually said, words coming through slowly and softly. He frowned as he spoke. “Couldn’t get the drop on it. When I was fighting it, the thing reacted in a way I couldn’t have predicted. Became deranged, erratic in its actions. I don’t know what caused it. Afterwards, I obtained a burner phone—fortunately, it appears that the MetaNav follows me and not my phone—and have been trying to replicate the event. So far, my efforts have been unsuccessful.”

_ And will remain unsuccessful, seeing as this Loki lacks the Call of Chaos, and I’m not going to be tying up and tormenting any Shadows. _

Shido frowned once more, bringing his thumb around his chin. There was a look in his eyes, hidden by emerald armour which shielded the true meaning from Goro. It had been a long time since he had been so close with someone he could not read, not fully, and it chilled him in a way he was unable to describe. The same cold which had washed over him after he had fallen in Shido’s Palace, that low-lingering dread which had held him within its captivity as he was held equally within the bonds of Maruki’s reality. As though he were on the slow procession, march to the gallows which stood, well within his eyeline, but the progression towards which was as of yet immeasurable, as though a winding path leading ultimately toward Golgotha.

Ah, yes, there came his ego. Significantly more contained than it had ever been before, but present yet. Still, comparing himself to Christ—Christ, where did he get off on that? Far as he could remember, the last time he had suggested anything like that was on his twenty-seventh birthday as a joke. He’d gone out with a few work friends and Akira for dinner and had—what had he said? More importantly, wasn’t he talking now to someone?

He focused and saw Shido across from him, saying something, mouth moving but the sounds all muffled, as though he were underwater. A shiver ran through Goro—ever since coming back to life he’d hated water, couldn’t stand the thought of being submerged in something which could kill him. He’d lain there in Shido’s Palace, too weak to escape, too healthy to die, until the thing began to burn away. Even with all of his strength, he couldn’t swim out of the wreckage when the holes the water was coming through were smaller than him. Goro was fairly certain he drowned well before the boilers exploded—he had only heard that they had when talking with Akira long afterward about how Ryuji (it was strange, how when speaking with people he cared about he thought of the Thieves with their given names, only to revert later. Curious, but he was uncertain if it was worth further examination at this stage) had nearly died saving them. Either way, the fear had stuck with him, fiercely and, so far, at least, permanently. His nose wrinkled at the memory of when he’d first come back to life, and how he’d been unable to bring himself to wash for days on end. At least that had kept him out of the bathroom for the most part, every time he went into that place it made him think of taking the same steps as his mother, seeing how he’d ruined his own life just as she had ruined her’s by having him.

Mom. He needed to go to her grave at some point soon. He went every month to clean it, leave flowers, and talk to her. Sometimes, he felt as though she responded. Maybe, in some fashion, she was—it seemed like Shadows could at times live past their human selves, if they were remembered well enough.  _ If I were to speak to her grave now, here, would she recognise me? Would she know that there is someone else speaking to her, wearing the skin of her son—even so, would she care, or would she think of me as being equally her son?  _

_ Would she be proud of who I am now, would she think of me as a mistake? _

Across from Goro, whomever he had been speaking with stood, patted him on the shoulder. He recoiled at the touch, no one made contact with him unless he was prepared for it, no one and he began to turn to tell them so. The lights outside of his window were red, a light red which reminded him of strawberries he was allergic to them now but when he was a child he remembered that when his mother wanted to spoil him on the weekends she sometimes bought a small carton of them and let him dip them into granulated sugar Back then he actually did enjoy eating sweet things, back before anything sweet reminded him of those happier moments and he couldn’t bring himself to remember them, not if he wanted to reach his goals, drawn in like an ant towards honeydew wait didn’t honeydew have sugar in it Goro stood as he reached for his phone to check after all couldn’t have his metaphor completely fall apart on him and he found that

Goro woke up the next morning with a slight headache. Grumbling, he pressed the snooze button. 

***

  
  


** Getting the Band Back Together **

Ryuji: hey, maybe dumb question

Ryuji: would it be a bad idea if I looked up the person who was my GF in my own timeline so I could reach out and see if she remembers what's going on

Ann: yeah I wouldn't

Goro: Sakamoto managed to date someone?

Ryuji: dude what the hell????

Goro: Sorry, I felt the need to chime in for the furry.

Futaba: give me her name, ill find her in like 5 minutes

Akira: hmmm

Ann: I dunno I'd find it weird

Akira: yeah I def. get that. But if she does remember, and doesn't have any sort of contact with anyone else, i think that'd be worse

Akira: so like, reach out once

Akira: if she doesn't remember you, leave her be

Akira : if she does remember, then you've saved her a lot of grief

Ann: yeah I guess that's fair

Ann: also wait, who is the furry

Akira: oh, yeah, Morgan

Ann: why's he a furry?

Akira: he was a cat

Goro: In my reality he was a talking cat.

Ann: y'all are fucking with me right?

Another message came through, and Ryuji flipped over to it as he leaned back against the stone wall. The wind was blustery today, especially on Shujin’s roof, and while it was cold, it was nice to feel the breeze pull through his hair. The midday sun cast pale light down from above, light stymied by a handful of clouds.

**Direct Message**

Futaba: c’mon gimme a name

Futaba: im so fucking bored and they arent letting me out til tmrw so plz gimme sumthing 2 do

Ryuji: im thinking on it

Futaba: oh come on

Ryuji: and I know if i offhand mention her name youll go find her anyways

Futaba: :\

Futaba: i mean yeah. Guilty as charged

Futaba: oh btw. What instrument did i play?

Ryuji: synthesizer. Also helped with recording and mixing stuff

Futaba: sweet

A light knock on the wall pulled his attention away, and he looked over to see Ann standing in the doorway. “Hiding out on the roof?” she asked as she took a few steps in.

“Well sure, where else am I going to eat this bounty in peace,” he responded with a chuckle, gesturing to the energy bar and apple that sat in his lap. She smiled weakly at the comment, before taking a seat opposite him. “That said, what’s going on?”

“Eh, Ms. Kawakami was looking for you.”

“Who?”

“The Japanese lit. teacher? Y’know, yellow sweater, denim skirt, perpetual aura of exhaustion?” Ryuji nodded along. He was fairly sure he remembered someone who fit that definition. “Probably wanted to continue the blood feud about your hair colour or something. She asked if I could look for you. I mentioned you might be up here.”

“Narc.”

“Delinquent.” Neither comment was made with any sort of heat, and aside from a small laugh that Ann gave, they fell into silence. “Beyond that, how I’m doing? I just feel . . . overwhelmed, I guess. Everyone is explaining things to me. They aren’t hiding anything. But even though I understand what’s happening, it feels like I’m so far behind everyone else. And they’re all talking about all of these awful things that are going to happen if we don’t do something, and it . . . it feels like a group of people who claim to be our friends decided to tie the whole group of us to the back of a moving truck, and told the two of us on the bottom that it’d be fine because they’d done it before. I can keep with it because of Shiho, because I need to be there for her, but after that . . .”

“I feel ya,” Ryuji said. “I think it might be easier for me, since I’m not from ‘round these parts, y’know? Like, I’m already roped into this much moreso just cause of that. Though, granted, I also don’t have one of your magic Persona thingies yet, so it balances out that way to.”

“Oh god yeah. Was it really only two days ago that we learned about monsters and magic powers and parallel universes?”

“Well, to be fair, we learned about parallel universes a few days before that.”

“I meant the one on our phones.”

“Oh right,” Ryuji muttered, picking his phone back up and glancing at the screen. Sure enough, the red and black icon he hadn’t paid too much attention to yet was there. “Jeez, how’dya think it even works? The others said a whole bunch of weird words into it, didn’t they.” He opened it up. A few entry fields were available, and a small history icon to the side. He gave it another brief glance before setting it down on his lap. “What were the things they talked about anyways? Like, a distortion and stuff like that?”

“Right,” Ann muttered. “The distortion I know was the castle, cause it was what Kamoshida thought that this place was. I just, I’ve got so many questions about it, y’know?”

“Questions about what?” another voice chimed in, and Ann yelped. Ryuji certainly didn’t, certainly kept it in and didn’t jump slightly. He looked over to see a brown-haired woman in a yellow sweater ( _ Right, that’s the Kawakami that Ann mentioned _ ) looking at them both. “Oh, glad to see you found him. You know, technically speaking, you’re not supposed to be allowed up here. Though I think that’s all a bit silly.”

“Fair enough,” Ryuji said quickly, sliding his hand over the MetaNav as he spoke. He imagined it wasn’t exactly the sort of thing anyone would recognise, but why risk it? “So anyways, what’d you need from me?”

“Oh, I was just going to ask if you were doing alright?” Kawakami answered, her eyes flickering towards the cane he had propped up against the wall. “A few of the other teachers and I noticed you’d gone back to using it after a while and I wanted to check in, make sure that things were still going smoothly for you.”

“Uh, yeah, I’ll be alright,” he answered. “Just a flare-up, I think.”  _ That sounds like a reasonable excuse, yeah?  _ “I should be back to normal soon. Thanks for checking in though.”

The teacher nodded, a tired softness in her eyes. She nodded to his words, cracking her fingers as she did so. “I’m glad to hear that,” she ended up saying. “If there does end up being anything that you need, you can just let me or one of the other teachers know. Also, remember that if you feel like you won’t be able to participate in physical education, you will need to have a doctor’s note.” 

Across from him, Ryuji could faintly hear Ann mutter something to the effect of, “since when have you cared?” Kawakami’s eyes flickered momentarily over to Ann, a flash of something (guilt, sorrow, whatever it was he couldn’t quite place it) crossing her eyes before she continued.

“One last thing before I leave: don’t forget that there are some good resources in the Shujin student handbook . . .” she trailed off as an electronic voice spoke, coming from Ryuji’s side. For a moment he struggled to parse what it said, but then the world  _ shifted _ . He had only ever seen this happen twice before, but the moment black and red strayed across his vision he was already well aware of what was happening. The grey-blue sky turned to blood, the rooftop of a school turned into that of a castle. In the distance, he could hear the growling of a Shadow.

Opposite him, Ann bolted up, already adorned in her form of rebellion. She swore as she took quick stock of herself, hands reaching for the assurance of her bow and chain. “Did you really leave the app open?”

“I thought it needed a prompt or something?” Ryuji replied as he rushed to his feet, grabbing his cane and other items as he stood. “Besides, can’t I just get us out—” He halted in his sentence as he saw the teacher standing there with them, looking about with fear in her eyes.

“Oh shit.” He couldn’t tell which of the three of them said it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: mentions of death, injury, drowning, severe aquaphobia preventing someone from performing day to day functions. There is a segment of somewhat surreal structure, if not content, to imply a character is in a psychological harrowing space.
> 
> Harmodius was a citizen of Athens in the 5th century when the city came under rule by the tyrants Hipparchus and Hippias (though there is discussion as to whether or not Hipparchus was a tyrant or simply a minister, as tyrant in this case simply means one who comes to power outside of the normal means, and does not inherently have any moral implications). He and his boyfriend Aristogeiten assassinated Hipparchus, after which Harmodius was slain by Hipparchus' guards. Aristogeiten was later tortured to death, and Hippias used his brother's death to bring a harsher dictatorship to Athens.

**Author's Note:**

> Content Warning: referenced death and injury, nothing explicit


End file.
